A Loathsome Lodestar
by Penelope Lane
Summary: A Mothic Romance. He only uses deception and subterfuge to get what he wants. She is a leader on the rise. So poorly timed and Krennic is not an easy man to love. The choices over the final months of the Clone Wars dictate every breath they take for the rest of their lives. Much romance. And a little angst. Reviews always welcome! Chapter 22 M.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This is my first Star Wars fic. I am new to the fandom. I may not know the way of things, what things are called, etc. Please be kind in that regard!

That being said, I thought it would be interesting to pair Mon Mothma with Krennic as they are contemporaries and because they took very different paths. Hope you enjoy—please review!

* * *

BBY: 19

Her even breathing told him she was asleep again. Krennic shifted slightly so as not to wake her as her head came to rest on his shoulder. He realized that, upon losing track of time, they could've been trapped for twelve hours or more. There were no signs of rescue parties or more attacks—just silence from the corridor. Krennic looked at the comlink on his wrist: a message. He moved his hand slightly to respond:

 _Everything as planned._

She stirred with a deep breath and he slipped the comlink back under his sleeve.

* * *

 _A week earlier_

Mon Mothma sat dejectedly at her desk and rubbed her forehead, deep in thought. Piles of refugee housing requests surrounded her. Other senators had their aides sign and organize them; Mon had to go through each one and sign them personally. She glanced out the window for a moment to give her eyes a break from the brightness of the screen before her. The sun was just starting to sink behind the Senate District skyline.

"Still working through them?" Padmé appeared in her doorway, "I finally had to stop—my wrist started to ache."

"If I stop," Mon rubbed her eyes tiredly and turned around to her friend, "it means the refugees will continue to languish in Coruscanti camps and I will have to go to that ghastly dinner party tonight."

Padmé smiled, "I'll just be waiting outside."

Mon nodded. She managed to finish a dozen more requests and breathed a sigh as she sent them out, knowing that those families would soon be on their way to Chandrila, safe from the Separatist madness. She smoothed her robes and, in the absence of a mirror, hoped she looked decent enough to be in the company of people. She was exhausted; the last thing she wanted to do that night was go to a party and be forced to talk about work.

She met with Padmé in the corridor and they went to the party together. Along the way in the airtaxi, Padmé glanced at her friend knowingly and noticed her solemn countenance.

"Bail thinks it will be beneficial for us," she said, "to talk with them, get to know them."

"What is there to know?" Mon huffed, "Their operations push our Constitution to its already fragile limits! They _want_ the war to continue. We are fighting against everything they want! You've heard the rumors!"

"Which? There are so many these days."

"The ones about various Corps of Engineers members developing secret weapons for the war effort and circumventing the senate's approval."

"They're _rumors._ And it's a conversation," Padmé countered, "it's dinner. It's drinking. It's time for a break—to have fun, Mon. Please. We'll go crazy if we don't."

They ascended the tower at 500 Republica.

"Getting to know them will make it easier when we need to have the hard conversations." Padmé pointed out.

Mon's mouth was a hard, thin line. Padmé was right, but she already knew that. Mon just didn't feel the need to spend the evening with possible warmongers. So many of them had the Chancellor's ear these days and were not to be trusted.

They entered the apartment and found the party already in full swing. There were several senators peppered throughout the living room, many of whom Mon did not want any part of. There were a few high-ranking naval officers as well, no doubt on a short furlough to give reports and check in at headquarters (but also to partake in a few parties as well). There were also several members of the Corps of Engineers. She sighed heavily and immediately grabbed a bubbly drink and a canapé from a passing droid. She stayed close to her friends—Bail and Padmé—to avoid talking with anyone. But as they began to network, she was left alone to observe.

Each face was gruff and unforgettable. Mon observed that the vast majority of the engineers were older male humans. She wondered silently how different the Corps would be if women and other species were more equally represented. With an arched eyebrow, she shrugged at the thought and finished her drink.

The room, however luxurious, seemed hot and stuffy. As she fanned herself, Mon wandered over to a group of senators. But their conversation was no better: a debate about the coming vote on the deregulation of the banks in order to open up more funds for the war effort.

Having successfully avoided being pulled into that interaction any further, Mon then glided over to the buffet in hopes of keeping her mouth too busy to talk. She got her drink refilled, too. She spun back around to survey the room and stood face to face with a man in an engineer's uniform.

Mon swallowed the bit of canapé hard and cleared her throat.

"Senator Mothma," he drawled in a cool voice.

"Yes," she blinked, mildly surprised. She was known, but her face was not.

"Your reputation precedes you."

In a moment, his eyes flickered from hers, then down, then up again. But in that short moment he noted many things: he saw that her eyes were a soft, brilliant shade of green, she was only an inch or so shorter than he, her periwinkle robes nipped her waist perfectly, and she wore her red hair in a low bun at the nape of her neck, with a few stray strands falling just from her temples.

Something about the tone of his voice didn't sit well with her, and she was forced to keep her lip from curling at him.

"Does it?" She lowered her gaze into the flute of her glass and took a sip. "I can't imagine why."

"I was present in the chamber when you spoke on the Concord Dawn Atmospheric Clean Up Efforts last year." he reached behind her for a bit of food and she sidled out of the way so his arm wouldn't come in contact with hers, "If I recall, your speech swayed the deciding votes."

"It seemed to, yes. And you are?" Mon allowed her eyebrow to rise.

"Orson Krennic." He said immediately, finishing the canapé. "Lieutenant Commander in the Corps of Engineers."

She smiled the same half smile she gave to all government colleagues she met for the first time: close-mouthed, polite, and guarded. Mon noted his azure blue eyes assessing her intently. She also noticed that he did not remove his glove when he shook her hand.

Her lack of reaction to his position unsettled him. Krennic furrowed his brow momentarily before recovering. Mon turned from him and surveyed the room.

"Where are you from?" He asked.

She took a drink, loathing the small talk that was hanging between them.

"Chandrila." She replied, "you?"

"Lexrul."

It was a backwater, a forgotten place. It became apparent to Mon that he felt he had a lot to prove. And it explained why he seemed only slightly out of place at the party.

"Never been."

"Well I've never been back," he shrugged, "I'm usually on projects all across the galaxy, but my work hasn't brought me back there."

Mon was silent and decided she didn't need to say anything.

"You're fortunate the Separatists have not got to Chandrila."

"My planet is a peaceful and content one," she countered, "I have no fears of discord. In addition, I am happy to create a haven for the thousands of refugees displaced by the current conflict."

"Of course, the Republic is making wise choices." He said.

"There are always wiser choices." Mon said evenly, trying to tamp down the anger welling up inside of her, "like peace."

"Sometimes, Senator," Krennic said in a low voice as they observed the party, "war is the only language that is understood."

Mon swiveled her head and met him squarely in the eye, however much she did not want to.

"I regret that I don't share your sentiments, Lieutenant Commander," she hissed, "I can't—"

"Surely you must admit," Krennic held back a sneer, "that my designs and the Republic Armed Forces have kept you safe these past tumultuous months."

"I'd say I'm safe in spite of it."

Mon had had enough—the Corps of Engineers had unfortunately lived up to all of her expectations; they were the secret warmongers she'd heard about from the rumors. She excused herself and disappeared into the crowd, avoiding him for the rest of the evening.

The night wore on and, just after midnight, Mon said her goodbyes. She went out to the platform to hail an airtaxi.

"Care to share?" Krennic called to her. He was already seated in the backseat of a vehicle.

It was late; Mon knew she'd be waiting a while for the next one and she was exhausted.

Too weary to say no, she relented and climbed in next to him.

After giving her address, they were zooming through the Coruscanti maze of spires and steeples.

"So you will be voting on the banks next week, yes?" Krennic asked.

"We will be, yes." She replied.

"Good opportunities there," he commented.

"And dangerous outcomes as well."

"We are prepared on our end," he never took his eyes from Mon, "all you have to do is… _say the word_."

"I am not open to bribes, Lieutenant Commander." She declared.

"You _wound_ me, Senator," Krennic placed a gloved hand over his heart or, rather, his insignia, "I know you are far too honorable for such a thing. I merely intended to remind you" –his voice grew dark—"that we are on the same side."

The airspeeder came to a stop and the door opened onto the platform of Mon Mothma's apartment building.

"They've set you up in a lovely high tower, haven't they?" He remarked from the taxi.

"I thank you for your company, Lieutenant Commander," Mon forced out the words, "I hope it won't be too long before I shall see you again."

"It won't be," he gave her a wry smile, "I shall be the Corps' representative at the session next week—and they've sent us our seating arrangement. Seems we'll be sitting together. It's why I took the time to introduce myself tonight. Looking forward to next week, Senator."

Mon Mothma had thought about Lieutenant Commander Krennic more than she really thought was necessary over the course of that week. She knew she had seen him before—perhaps in the Senate, perhaps another gathering, or maybe he had even passed her in the halls. She thought of the way he had positioned himself closely to her when they spoke, as if trying to touch her and make it seem accidental. She thought of the way in which his mouth curled when he emphasized _say the word._

High tensions made the air thick in the Senate Chamber the next day. It had seemed that everyone had something to say, and they took their time saying it. Mon Mothma chose to defer to Padme on the topic; she felt the message would be stronger if the Loyalist Committee kept their speakers to a minimum. But her focus, for the first time in her career, was pulled from the main pulpit.

As he'd warned, Krennic was seated next to her and Mon watched him out of her periphery. She'd wondered who sat him there; he must have had important friends. Mon could only deduce that Krennic had lofty goals and seemed to be successful at attaining them. She studied him as he watched Senator Balteri speak on peace. He sat back in the seat next to her, one leg crossed and propped up on his knee, displaying a relaxed confidence—or that of one trying to exude some dominance—she couldn't be sure of which. Krennic felt Mon staring at him and glanced over.

They locked eyes for an awkward moment and, against her will, Mon flushed. She broke her gaze and turned her attention back to the speech. After days of meetings, hearings and long hours, Mon tried to combat a wave of exhaustion. She glanced around the room; many of the older senators had begun to doze, secure in their decisions already. Fatigue was making her senses foggy, which made the next moment profoundly confusing for her.

As Balteri spoke, Mon noticed the water in the glass before her trembling.

A large rumble rolled through the Senate Chamber and all light was snuffed out in a moment. Panicked cries echoed all around Mon as she blinked her eyes to adjust to the sudden darkness. She dug into her pocket for her comlink but came up empty. The room quickly descended into chaos as screams grew louder and Mon could see red laser blasts above her head. She began to move, first searching for some sort of light source but only managed to stumble and knock over her water. Suddenly, she felt a hand clamp onto her arm. She screamed at the force of the grip and fought it. A voice materialized in her ear.

"Follow me, Senator."

Krennic.

Overhead, the cacophony of voices grew into a crescendo and Mon didn't think twice before latching onto his cape and trailing him out of the room. Once in the hall, they were met with more darkness and mayhem. She couldn't determine how long they ran—they made so many twists and turns that she felt they must've been right back where they started. Soon she stopped and heard Krennic wrench a door open. He grabbed her arm and pulled her into a room. The door slammed behind them and Mon heard the latch lock.

More darkness.

Mon didn't realize how quiet it had become because of the pounding of blood in her ears. She tried to catch her breath, but her breathing was too shallow. She pulled at the laces in the back of her dress and inhaled deeply.

"Are—are you all right, Senator?" Krennic had what seemed to be concern in his voice yet because of the darkness, Mon couldn't truly tell.

"Er, yes," she replied distractedly, "…you?"

"Yes." Was the answer.

They both felt around the room to get an idea of where they were. There wasn't a lot of space: Mon felt shelving, some sort of powered down droid and a big sink. They were in a supply closet. She sank to the ground, hugged her knees to her chest and tried not to think of what was going on outside. Was it the whole city? Were there going to be more attacks? Would they get out of this cell?

"Damned Separatists." Krennic muttered, "We'll probably be here—"

"—All night." Mon finished. "Do you have a comlink on you?"

"No—No, I don't."

Krennic exhaled forcefully and found a spot next to her. She couldn't gauge how close he was. As she shifted, his hand brushed up against hers. Her heart was still pounding and hadn't slowed; she felt it thrumming against her ribs. She wondered if he'd heard it.

She sighed, trying to catch breath, still unsuccessful. He was silent.

"Please," she whispered into the darkness, "say something. I need my mind to stop racing—my heart—"

He didn't take her hand, nor did he mean to touch her, but he slid closer to where she was sitting and in doing so, pressed the side of his body up next to hers. He could hear her unsteady breaths.

"They'll get to us by morning—the rescue teams, I mean." He said.

"Anything _besides_ where we are right now."

"Er—"

"Tell me about yourself. You're from—"

"—Lexrul—"

"—Yes, yes of course—" She breathed, "tell me how you got here."

"Well, the power went out—"

"To _Coruscant._ How you got to Coruscant." Mon's mouth manically threatened to quiver into a smile.

"I was part of the Futures Program," he started, "chosen for a scholarship. And from there, I moved upward. I've worked on several large construction projects in Coruscant. They've slowed since the wars so—"

"—And your family?"

"I never knew my father," he said, "and my mother gave me up at a young age. I grew up in a children's home on my planet."

"And now?"

"Now I live in the Central District," he said, "not too far from you, in fact. Tell me, why don't you live in 500 Republica like so many other senators?"

"I like privacy." Mon said, "and separating work from personal life."

Krennic didn't respond. He'd been dying for an apartment in that building and to know someone who could be there but simply chose not to was dumbfounding to him.

"Alone?" He said after a moment.

"Pardon me?"

"Alone—do you live alone?"

"Er, yes." She responded, "and yourself…?"

"I do."

Mon suddenly felt a chill in the dark. It seemed the heat had gone out. She was suddenly very aware of the stranger next to her.

"They'll have to clear the building," she said, "then they'll come and rescue us."

She shivered against her better judgment.

"Here," Mon heard Krennic say.

She felt what only could be his cape as he placed it around her shoulders. A little surprised, she thanked him softly. The chill that plagued her didn't entirely abate. Something beside the temperature was wrong.

She heard rigid quick footsteps drawing nearer—many of them. Mon and Krennic held their collective breath as the steps stopped in front of their door. Krennic felt her move toward the sound—possibly because she thought it was rescuers—but he grabbed her and pushed her up against the wall. In his haste, his cheek collided with hers and he could feel her hot breath upon his skin.

It was then that the rain of laser shots came through the door. The barrage lasted over thirty seconds. Once they stopped, the group seemed to move on to the next door and they heard another series of laser blasts. Mon and Krennic stayed frozen against the wall as they listened to more lasers move farther and farther away from them, and then finally fade completely.

Mon, crouched between the wall and Krennic's chest, only could find her breath in labored gasps. The darkness and the burning scent of molten durasteel around her grew unbearable. Tears began to streak down her face.

"We—we have to get out—" she stammered brokenly.

"Senator," Krennic whispered as he knelt before her, "you must remain silent. They could return—"

"We must try to escape—"

"We have no means of defense or communication," Krennic said calmly, "It would be suicide to venture out now."

He held her shoulders and spoke very quickly.

"What I need you to do is take a deep breath," his voice was steady.

"I can't—"

"I'll do it with you," he said as he fleetingly grazed her cheek with his thumb in a gesture of comfort; somehow he'd found her face in the dark.

She steadied her breathing, ignored his touch, and took a deep breath. Mon held it for a moment and they exhaled together.

Krennic shifted his weight and sat back next to her. She found that she had part of his sleeve gripped firmly in her fist. She relinquished it.

"We're going to be here for a while." He said.

Mon was silent for a moment but then whispered, "Thank you."

* * *

 _Earlier that week._

The meeting had been going well, better than Krennic had anticipated. Never did he ever expect to be presented with such an opportunity—a promotion in the Special Weapons Group for the Republic. Another rung on the ladder.

Mas Amedda steepled his fingers.

"This opportunity would be invaluable to you," he commented, "very helpful indeed. Of course, everything valuable comes with a price."

"Name it." Krennic said eagerly.

"It's not an easy thing we ask," Amedda's voice was low, calm, "but we only ask it because we know you are worthy."

"Thank you, Vice Chancellor."

"We have," Amedda said, "a task that needs to be carried out. Various voices in the Senate are detrimental to our unity and our goals as a Republic. I should like to request that you use your influence to damper those voices—or one in particular."

Surely another more powerful person should be better suited for such a job the Vice Chancellor described, but Krennic listened, willing to say yes to anything if it meant securing this new position.

"This senator needs to be silenced in any way you see fit—by any means necessary. Will you do it?"

"I will, Vice Chancellor." Persuading and bribing was a specialty of Krennic's. "Who is it?"

"Of course, this is confidential."

"Of course."

"By any means—brutal or otherwise."

"I understand. Who is it?"

"Senator Mon Mothma."


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Tya is a rockstar! Thanks for the review! You get a special cookie. Krennic IS quite cold in R1 – part of the reason I wanted to write this story was because I wanted to show him at a younger age and how he evolved into the person we knew in R1. We're going to go to some dark places in this fic. I hope everyone likes it.

I also must give a shout out to all the countries represented in my stats: UK, Australia, Austria, Russia, Belgium, Finland, France, Germany, Indonesia, The Philippines, New Zealand, Sweden, and lastly – the US. I think this is the most internationally read story I've ever written. So thanks for reading, everyone! I hope to update pretty frequently as this idea is just flying from my head. Thanks for the support; it means a lot (as I am new to the fandom).

On with the show…

* * *

As the hours passed, it grew increasingly difficult for Mon to gauge how long they had been in the store room. She flitted in and out of consciousness, her exhaustion every so often succeeding in hammering her eyes shut for fifteen minutes at a time. She awoke, finding that her head was on Krennic's shoulder. With a sharp intake of breath, Mon sat upright.

"Sorry…" she murmured softly into the darkness.

"No need." He mumbled.

Hunger pangs assailed her as she realized she hadn't eaten before the senate session because she had figured there would be a celebratory dinner after the vote with friends.

She thought of Padme and Bail and of the attempt on Padme's life just months before—was this terrorist attack planned to finish the job? Mon squeezed her eyes shut to block out possible answers to that question. More questions threatened to pose themselves in her mind, and she knew that if she didn't get out soon, she was sure to go insane.

"Tell me about your planet," Krennic said into the darkness.

"Chandrila is idyllic," she said, a calm seemingly washing over her, "a beautiful, lush planet. We are a peaceful people. I love serving them. I actually just got word today that they've done some drilling for a new settlement and they've found some sort of crystal in the rock."

"Crystal?" Krennic tried to keep his excitement in check.

"Yes," Mon said, "I forget the name—"

"Kyber?"

"Yes, in fact!" She said, "they said the rock was littered with them."

"How… curious."

"So now the governor is asking me to help decide about whether or not to start a mining station there."

"Mining is good for a planetary economy." He tried to sound offhand. This was too perfect.

"Indeed." She commented, "and a big undertaking. A lot to consider."

There was a rumble from outside the door and whatever conversation that had begun was quickly shut down. They were silent again for another hour or two.

Krennic sat quietly as he felt her trembling next to him. Every now and then he could hear her doze off for a few moments then awaken with a start. During one such nap, he heard her slide closer to him and felt her head land on his shoulder. Her even breathing conveyed she was fast asleep. As she leaned on him, he felt the warmth of her cheek through his tunic.

For reasons he was unable to explain, he suddenly tried to think of the last time someone had actually come in physical contact with him without having to be paid for it. He also thought about the fact that being trapped in a dark room didn't rattle him as much as it did her.

She awakened for a moment, only to fall back asleep—again on his shoulder. He found that it irked him, but he didn't want it to stop.

There was a sudden pounding at the door. Mon awoke with a violent start.

The voice outside the door was grim: "There are probably more in here."

But Mon recognized it; it was Meke Alamone, a senate guard.

"Meke!" She cried, staggering to her feet.

"Senator Mothma?"

"Yes! Oh, thank the stars…"

The door, damaged beyond repair (and not programmed to unlock without power), made a deafening screech as the guards forced it open. Mon burst forth from the room and into the hallway. She was met with a small rescue party and Obi-Wan Kenobi.

"Master Kenobi!" She rubbed her eyes tiredly, "I've never been happier to see you."

"That door—how in the world did you survive?" He asked, incredulous.

"Lieutenant Commander Krennic," Mon gestured to the engineer standing next to her.

Krennic took the opportunity to be humble: "I only did what anyone else would do."

"You saved her life!" Kenobi exclaimed.

And with that, both Orson Krennic and Mon Mothma realized something grave: she was now indebted to him for saving her. He then regarded her thoughtfully: her eye makeup had streaked across her face, her auburn hair was tousled, and her cheeks were flushed from crying. He never heard her sobbing during the night; she'd kept it hidden from him. She was still clutching his cape around her shoulders, shivering. He was, for a moment, frozen as he gazed at her.

"Mon," Kenobi continued, "you must know… several senators lost their lives last night."

She nodded silently and briefly closed her eyes.

"But there will be an emergency meeting of the surviving senators today," he said, "there must be a vote on the Banking bill, as per the Chancellor's orders."

"How can we be in session in light of what has just occurred?" She cried out, her voice echoing through the hall.

Obi-Wan was silent as he gave her a look that signaled he shared her sentiments.

She nodded again, this time with a pained look on her face. Krennic watched her as she wearily turned in the direction of the chamber.

Obi-Wan watched her go, but he was concerned. "Lieutenant Commander Krennic, would you escort Senator Mothma? She—she doesn't seem to be herself. Would you see her home after the vote? That is, if you are not otherwise occupied."

"Of course, Master Kenobi." Krennic slightly bowed his head.

"Thank you," the Jedi Master replied.

So off Krennic went down the hall to catch up with Mon. She jumped at his voice.

"Senator—pardon me," he said, "I didn't mean to startle you. Master Kenobi suggested I escort you to the chambers and then home afterwards. He—he is very concerned. He believes there may be a bounty on your life."

"What?" She cried.

"Forgive me," Krennic kept apace, continuing to the chamber, "I shouldn't have said anything, but I thought you should know. I will stay with you to see you safely home after vote is complete."

"Er—thank you, Lieutenant Commander," Mon blinked tiredly as they sat down in the chamber pod, "I-I appreciate your diligence."

She wondered if it would be when he was alone in her apartment with her that he'd want to cash in on his life debt. She'd heard horror stories.

In the Senate Chamber that day, she fought in vain against deregulating the banks. Mon knew that this move would be another blow to the Constitution and all of the finance regulations she worked toward during the course of her career. But in light of the power outage attack, very few were willing to negotiate for peace.

She was relieved, however, that many of her close friends had fortunately been spared in the attack. She nodded solemnly to Padme and Bail.

"And, so," Chancellor Palpatine announced at the end of the meeting, "next week, in honor of our fallen colleagues, we will have the funeral ceremonies on the Senate Square. We hold their memories in our heart and continue to fight this wretched war in their names."

After the twenty-four hour ordeal, it was time to go home. Mon climbed into a waiting airtaxi with Krennic seemingly on the hem of her dress. He gazed furtively at her the whole ride to her building and the turbolift ride to her apartment. She was doing a standard job of keeping herself together, but her hands still trembled. He trailed her down the hallway, his eyes fixed on his white cloak as it flowed behind her. It was a tiered garment, only coming to just the middle of his calves. On her, it was closer to ankle length. They got to her apartment and he was silent as they entered. Krennic grasped her arm, which stopped Mon, and went into the apartment. He made a show of inspecting each room thoroughly for some unknown assassin. All was clear. He met her back in the entry hall.

"Oh, I suppose you'll want this back." She took off his cape and handed to him.

"Oh, erm, yes." He blinked for a moment at the lameness of his reply.

She moved to the living room and removed her mantel. She threw it onto the sofa absently before meandering to the window. The city still didn't have power. She felt Krennic's presence behind her; somehow he hadn't left yet.

"Forgive me—you must be starving," she managed, "P79? Please start up dinner!"

"No, no," he waved his hand, "I merely wanted to ensure your safety."

Mon gestured around her with outstretched arms: "Quite safe."

He gave her a short nod and turned to leave. It was then that Mon realized that perhaps she'd been unfair to the man who had just saved her life.

"Are you sure you don't want to stay for dinner?" She asked. The creeping dark circles under her verdant eyes made them look enormous.

"I suppose I could..." A pang of guilt unexpectedly shot through Krennic like a laser, but he tamped it down successfully.

There was a knock at the door. Mon advanced over to it, but Krennic put his arm in front of her.

"Assassins don't knock." She almost laughed and opened the door.

Krennic watched as a tall, blonde man stepped through the threshold and enveloped Mon in his arms tightly. She cried out in joyful surprise and threw her arms around his neck. They shared a tender kiss. Krennic cleared his throat as his mind gave a scream.

The man was impossibly tall, Krennic observed bitterly, and definitely taller than he. He watched as he lifted Mon up off the floor in another embrace. They engaged in a half conversation of finishing each other's sentences where he explained that he'd come back on emergency furlough to check on her safety. Mon seemed extremely surprised by his presence, being that he had been fighting somewhere in the Outer Rim.

"Pardon me," she broke away, remembering the Lieutenant Commander's presence, "Castor this is Lieutenant Commander Krennic. He saved me last night. Krennic, this is Lieutenant Castor Hentri—"

 _Ha!_ Krennic thought as he nodded in greeting, _I outrank him_. So there was a silver lining to this whole display.

"—my fiancé." Mon finished.

She saw Krennic's features sag inexplicably at her words, which made her uncomfortable. Mon gazed up at Castor who had wrapped an arm around her shoulder. She smiled broadly and the tearstains on her cheeks were all at once no longer visible. Krennic was in awe of this change. It seemed Hentri's very presence had a dramatic effect on her mood. He was hit with a sudden urge to have that influence over her emotions.

"Lieutenant Commander Krennic," Mon explained, flashing another dazzling smile to her fiancé (but she smiled, Krennic eagerly noted, while referencing _him_ ), "was with me for the entire night. He kept me calm—I owe him a lot."

Castor seemed to understand the gravity of her words: "Indebted to you, sir."

"I just invited the Lieutenant Commander to dinner—"

"No need," Krennic flashed a forced smile, "After all, the senate has passed the banking deregulation. I'd imagine the Corps Headquarters is abuzz. Must be off."

"Of course, of course." She stammered quickly. "Well, thank you."

"Well then," Krennic was being bombarded by several hundred different feelings at once and he needed to be away from them immediately, "I should be off."

He focused on his walking when he made it to the hallway—anything to keep his mind off of what he had just witnessed. He clutched his cape under his arm. A spot on his sleeve caught his eye and he brushed at it but it didn't come out. He realized it was Mon's eyeliner.

He took an airtaxi to a bar not too far from the Senate District. The power had just come back on. If any of his superiors saw him, they'd probably understand given the circumstances.

He sat at the counter and pondered. Usually his pondering sessions focused on weapons' procurement from the Outer Rim or the way the turboblasters could be improved. He enjoyed thinking about engineering, science, and data. Those were concrete, tangible, and quantifiable. They were easily measured and useful. When Krennic put years into a project, it was immensely gratifying to be able to see his work before him. He'd always hated uncertainty and the abstract.

But now, as he sat on the stool as the lone patron in the establishment, he thought of different things, things that he'd never considered ever. He slurped down a stinging shot of some unknown liquid the bartender had slid to him. How to proceed? He knew he needed those mines on Chandrila. He knew he needed to build a superweapon before the Separatists did. He knew Mon Mothma was valuable and powerful.

Those were the facts, the absolutes; the cards with which he had to play.

He took another shot and this time his throat burned. Things began to get hazy, unfixed.

There were then the series of unknowns with which to contend:

-His smoldering, latent and inexplicable anger at the fact that Mon Mothma had somehow deceived him into thinking she was single ("I live alone") and interested ("Are you sure you don't want to stay for dinner?").

-Her level of dedication to her fiancé.

-Whether or not Krennic could take said fiancé.

-Whether any of these new feelings would have an impact on his goals.

Krennic thought of her rosy, tearstained cheeks, and downed another shot. Another appeared before him and he rubbed the glass between his thumb and forefinger. In his other hand he clutched his cape. He brought the material up to his nose and inhaled the sweetest aroma: her scent. It was some unknown flowery musk mixed with a tang of residual panic. He downed the last shot. He couldn't tell which had been more intoxicating.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

A/N: Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I'm so glad people are enjoying!

* * *

Krennic paced around the waiting room of the Vice Chancellor's office. Things were moving quickly. If he could convince Mothma to start a mining station on Chandrila, he would be one step closer to developing his superweapon. This new discovery was more than he had ever dreamed. Out of formality, he needed permission first.

Amedda's secretary showed Krennic into the office. Krennic could barely contain himself.

"Vice Chancellor," he was not asked to sit down, but did, "Mothma has proven more valuable than we originally thought. Chandrila seems to have countless stores of kyber crystals. I could use my newfound confidence with her to set up a mining station there. These kybers would advance the research exponentially. She is the key to making this whole operation work. I know that if you give me more time, I can have influence over her in the senate."

Amedda was silent for a moment before speaking: "Move in on her, then."

Krennic blanched at his choice of words. "Excuse me?"

"That is what you were thinking, yes?"

It was exactly what he was thinking, but to hear his superior say it aloud to him was surprising. Krennic, feeling a little euphoric, nodded.

"Good then," Amedda smiled tersely, "as long as it accomplishes our mutual goals I honestly don't care what you do. You are dismissed."

"There is one another thing." Krennic dared to overstay his welcome, "Mon Mothma has a fiancé—a Lieutentant Castor Hentri. It would make this whole process much easier if he were—out of the picture."

"I'll be sure to send him somewhere where he's kept busy." Amedda waved his hand at Krennic, "Dismissed."

He waved his hand at Krennic again and the Lieutenant Commander left the office with a small bow before racing off to his office to send out the necessary transmissions.

* * *

The day of the senators' funerals was grey and Mon found that fitting. The sky was hazy and a thick fog made it very hard to get anywhere in Coruscant, as everyone relied on airspeeders to travel. The ceremony was held on one of the vast platforms outside of the Senate building and started precisely at sunrise. The attendees stood around the prepared pyres and numbered in the thousands. As was Chandrilan custom, Mon Mothma wore deep purple robes as a sign of moderate mourning for her colleagues.

Krennic saw her from afar and observed her robes as they billowed out from behind her like a pair of vast formidable wings. A gauzy lavender veil enshrouded her face against the biting wind. Because of its translucence, he couldn't tell if she were greatly affected by the proceedings before them. He found himself longing to catch a glimpse of another trail of her tears. Everyone around him was reverent and still, but Krennic managed to snake his way through the crowd to be closer to her.

As the pyres were lit, the crowd began to thin and go off to start their days. Mon Mothma, Bail Organa, and Vasp Vaspar entered the senate building and bid each other goodbye before going to their respective offices. Krennic caught up with Mon in the hallway.

"Up early, I see, Lieutenant Commander," she commented, "I'd imagine you are at the Senate on urgent business?"

"I attended the funerals," he answered gravely.

"I see."

"And I also have the contracts for the mining station."

"Ah, yes," Mon regarded with a small amount of disdain. It was clear that he did come to the senate that day for reasons other than mourning those lost, "I've been discussing its construction with our Governor. She is not pleased about the project."

"Any revolutionary and modern movement will meet some traditionalist opposition." Krennic commented matter-of-factly, "I'm sure that if I speak with her and make clear the advantages her planet would reap from the station, she would be very pleased. Would you allow me?"

"Leave it to me," Mon entered her office and sat behind her desk, "I know her well. My father knows her, my mother knows her. If I need you, I'll let you know."

Krennic noticed a few reading tablets on her desk beside her documents.

"Some light reading?" He asked.

"I'm studying up on the different galactic cultures," she explained. "They're truly fascinating. I've been reading about one planet, Ri-ek, where they value birth so much that—"

"Truly," Krennic found no interest in diverse cultures of the galaxy unless he were reading about their weapons, "once the Separatists are defeated, the Republic shall be united under one culture."

"I—I don't know if that is possible," Mon furrowed her brow, "in order to unite everyone, we must all acknowledge our differences and learn to thrive on them."

Krennic raised an eyebrow and produced a dossier of documents for Mon to peruse.

"I'll leave these with you." He said, "If you have any questions, we could get dinner later to discuss things."

"Thank you," she accepted the dossier and put it on her desk, "I'll let you know if I have any questions."

Krennic returned to Military Headquarters and checked his comlink throughout the day, but Mon never contacted him. He ran his fingers over the device several times, weighing whether or not he should shoot her a message. By seven, when she still hadn't contacted him, he called to cancel the dinner reservation. He wrestled with the idea of going back over to her office for about an hour, but then he decided upon just going to her apartment.

He gave three short knocks to the door and it was opened promptly by Mothma's droid, P79, who was also holding a tray of drinks.

"Miss," the droid called back to her, "Lieutenant Commander Krennic has arrived, in spite of not having a place on the invite list."

"Er, show him in, P," Mon rose from the group seated in the living room, "Lieutenant Commander, may I help you?"

Here Krennic had been worrying about getting out of the friendzone when he hadn't even reached it in the first place.

"I didn't mean to disturb…"

"Of—of course not," Mon showed her guilt unabashedly on her face, "I'm just having a few people over—we have little senate get-togethers every week. Consequently, we have much to discuss."

She gestured for him to join the group: Organa, Amidala, and Vaspar.

"Certainly," Krennic said as he took a seat next to Vaspar, "I just—I just wanted to ensure that you had reviewed the work orders for the mine."

"I did." She smiled briefly, "I need to journey to Chandrila next week to speak with the governor about them. I was wondering if you'd care to accompany me? I'm sure your building expertise will be needed."

Krennic accepted immediately but then was promptly brought into a conversation with Vaspar about possible bridge projects on Taldot, the senator's planet. Happy to feel apart of such an exclusive crowd, Krennic didn't mind discussing trusses with Vasp for thirty minutes.

The evening proved to be beneficial for all involved: Mon was one step closer to convincing Bail and Padme to vote in favor of an Outer Rim Farm bill, and Krennic and Vaspar had struck a deal about a new bridge over a particularly dangerous canyon on Taldot.

Mon asked Krennic to stay for dinner—he'd made the uptight Senator Vaspar be in a particularly good mood. With an extremely good stroke of luck, Krennic found his seat next to Mon.

P79 had prepared a fantastic meal; since Mon Mothma had been reading about different galactic cultures, the feast reflected her findings. Krennic barely recognized anything on the table but trusted her gourmandism. She raised her glass and everyone followed suit.

"To the Republic!" She toasted, "but always—to liberty!"

The group raised their glasses in agreement and drank.

* * *

 _A week later, Chandrila_

Due to their busy schedules, Mon and Orson were unable to journey to Chandrila together. She arrived a few days before him and was there at the shipyard to greet him when he landed. As they rode through Hanna City en route to the Chandrilan House for the meeting with the governor, Jovive Centi, Mon gave Krennic a cursory tour of the city. He was immediately struck by not only the perfect climate but the placidity of the people. He stole a glance at Mon as they eased their way through the peaceful Hanna City streets and noted that she seemed very contented to be home. The idyllic planet seemed to be reflected in every bone in her body and she was rejuvenated merely by being there. Being on her home planet made Krennic see Mon at another level. She was the personification of Chandrila: calm, gentle, and temperate, but immensely respected and powerful to the Republic. He wondered how his new vision of her would factor into his wanting to plumb the Chandrilan earth for kybers.

Maybe inviting Krennic to Chandrila, Mon thought, had been a mistake. She knew that his abrasive ways would not sit well with Chandrilans because they never sat well with her, but she needed him to explain the intricacies of the mine design. After a disastrous dinner on their first night where Krennic accused the governor of being a backward sylvan bumpkin, Mon thought it best for them to dine alone on the second night.

The meal started with a cool silence. Mon ate the first course quietly.

"Slight setback," Krennic muttered, "If only I—"

"I'll go alone tomorrow," Mon said, "I think it's better at this point. I'm sorry I asked you to join me—this was more of a diplomatic mission."

Her words stung. "I just need another—"

There was a knock at the door. Mon dabbed a napkin at her mouth, rose from the table and strode over to the door. Two captains came into the suite. Krennic didn't remember what they said or exactly what they did; all he remembered was Mon fluttering to the ground suddenly in a mound of periwinkle robes. Not hearing the guards' half-hearted condolences or their exit, Krennic raced over to Mon and crouched before her.

"Are you all right?" He demanded, "What can I do?"

He reached out to touch her shoulder but pulled back; touching her was so much easier when they were in the dark.

"Castor," she said through bitter tears in a strangled voice, "Castor…"

She repeated his name many times before Krennic asked her to explain.

"He—he's gone." She sobbed as she clung to his arms. "I don't understand—he ought to have been out in the Dagobah sector—they said he was at Mesor."

Her grip on his arms tightened as she sobbed harder. Krennic gingerly guided her to her feet and walked her over to the sofa. She sat down heavily.

"What happened?" He asked, horrified, as the meeting with Amedda played over and over in his mind—had he sanctioned this?

"I—I don't know." She rubbed her forehead frantically, "There was an attack—an ambush. He was leading a battalion and was at the front of the laserfight. That's all they said."

"I'll make arrangements to return to Coruscant." Krennic offered, "Let me make the necessary calls."

He went to the other room and left Mon alone for a few minutes. He came back in to find her lying prostrate on the sofa.

"Would you like me to call your parents?"

"I'll speak with them tomorrow. I can't talk to anyone right now." She covered her eyes with the back of her arm.

"Certainly." He moved to go out, "I'll just leave you."

"Yes, that might be best." She replied, her eyes shielded by her hand.

Without a sound or another word, Krennic left her alone.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Thank you so much for the encouraging reviews! I have so much fun doing character-driven fics. I find it such a cool challenge to work with fascinating made-up people. Haha.

* * *

The next morning Krennic zoomed through the galaxy and back to the senate to wait for the Vice Chancellor to show up for work. Amedda waved his hand at him as he passed, signaling Krennic would have stay outside the office until he was ready for him. The Lieutenant Commander paced by the door. Forty-five minutes later, Krennic was invited in.

He immediately lost all sense of decorum: "I didn't ask for you to _kill_ him!"

Krennic clenched his teeth and inhaled with a deep rise in his shoulders before exhaling forcefully. The Vice Chancellor put up his hands in a lackadaisical form of protest.

"This is what you wanted, correct?"

"…No!" Krennic's voice was hushed but unstable and tense.

"Well…" Amedda allowed himself to trail off.

"Could it ever be traced?" Krennic asked.

"Ha!" Amedda laughed at what Krennic was most concerned with, "No."

"Good."

"Bursting in here cannot become a habit, Lieutenant Commander," Amedda scolded him. "Back to your conquest, then."

Krennic nodded and, after a short, jerky bow, left the office.

The feeling that plagued him was not guilt. At least he couldn't identify it as such. The sick sensation in his chest was one of immeasurable weight. It threatened to gnaw at him, to face this atrocity. But he buried it, and thus it was silenced.

His comlink buzzed and his heart leapt at the caller: Senator Mothma. He answered maybe too eagerly but quickly regained composure; it was her aide. Mon was to stay in Chandrila for the next week to assist Hentri's parents with the funeral and its preparations and so all mining business would be put off until further notice.

Apparently, Krennic learned later that afternoon, Hentri had been from a prominent Chandrilan military family. He had grown up with Mon and in response to his death, the planet had declared a global period of mourning.

The following week Krennic was home alone. He sat in silence as the holonews illuminated his dark living room. The evening news had been preempted by a livestream of the funeral proceedings on Chandrila. The announcer had repeated several times, in a baleful tone, that Hentri had been a valiant hero against the Separatist savages.

As the camera panned the crowd, Krennic found Mon. The camera seemed to find her as well and it zoomed in on her face. As if on cue, the announcer gave her name and commented glibly about what an ordeal the past week had been for her. Another announcer cut in conversationally to discuss Mon's outfit:

"As with Chandrilan tradition," she said, "we see Senator Mon Mothma in cream colored robes. This is the color of high mourning for close family members of the deceased. All others present, save for Hentri's parents, are in various shades of purple."

"Isn't it true," the first announcer asked, "that Chandrilans also crop their hair during periods of high mourning?"

"Among the older generations, yes." The female announcer explained, "we don't see it much anymore; I doubt such a modern woman as Mothma would ever make such a choice."

* * *

The next time Krennic saw her was two weeks later at a meeting for Vaspar's bridge project. During those two weeks without her, he found himself tense and he chalked it up to the delay in the start of the mine.

Mon didn't make eye contact with him at all during the meeting. She kept her eyes trained on the notes before her and did not speak. After the meeting had ended, Krennic low-key raced to the opposite end of the room where she was exiting. He slipped into a conversation she was having with Senator Vaspar.

"I know you might not be ready—" Vaspar stammered, "but my party is Friday. I'm hosting several different diplomats from around the galaxy—"

"I'm ready," Mon said, "I'll definitely be there. Thank you, Vasp."

"And you, too, Krennic," Vaspar said, "I'm hosting a party—lots of people, good food, good music, good conversation. Please come."

"I'd love to!" Krennic kept his voice even. An actual invite. Those were rare.

"Lieutenant Commander," she said quietly with a crack in her voice, "good day to you."

"Good day, Senator," Krennic responded casually, as if he'd just discovered her there.

"If you'll excuse me—I have an agriculture and industry meeting with Padme," Vaspar bid goodbye and left.

After an awkward silent moment, Mon mumbled an excuse about getting back to her office. Krennic walked beside her.

The two were silent as they made their way through the halls with her aides trailing behind.

"If there is anything I can do…" Krennic meant the words—he just wasn't sure in what context they applied.

"You've already done enough," she said as she thought of all that he'd done to ensure her safety. She found him to be incredibly kind and considerate.

But Krennic could only think of his part in her current grief. He nodded wordlessly as he studied her face.

She wore no makeup and her eyes were red. Her skin was smooth and alabastrine in spite of her obvious exhaustion. Krennic noted she was in the cream robes he'd seen her in on the holonews broadcast. The color of her skin and her clothing melded together and she now took on an ethereal glow.

She hadn't cut her hair.

An aide leaned over to her—a reminder for the next pressing meeting. She nodded while her gaze stayed fixed on his eyes. She tried a smile as a signal of parting but only succeeded in straining her lips across her mouth. Krennic gave her a nod in return.

She disappeared around the curve of the hallway as he stood frozen, watching her crisp cream robes trail behind her.

As he journeyed back to the Military Headquarters, Krennic took stock of the interpersonal relationships in his life. He had never been married, he'd never even had anyone in his life—romantic or otherwise—who he could call a companion. His coworkers, he knew, tolerated him, and those beneath him had evolved to fear him.

Krennic had never known his father and only had vague memories of his mother. The children's home he'd grown up in was a stark, cold and soulless place. He remembered clinging to a caretaker once when he was four after a nasty fall in the courtyard. She patted his head and quickly tended to his knee scrape before disappearing to look after the myriad of other children. He cried, alone, outside for what seemed like hours. It was one of his earliest memories.

He couldn't start to explain the switch that had been flipped during that first night with Mon Mothma. He felt too ambushed by it to make any sense of it. He had initially thought his attraction to her would merely be a perk in the process toward getting control of the Chandrilan kyber source. But she didn't flinch at his touch and didn't seem to loathe his presence. And that was all it took to turn it into something more.

* * *

Vaspar's dinner party would prove to be dull, Mon knew. Whenever it was his turn to host, all the fun seemed to be sucked out of the room, however good his intentions were. Even so, Mon also knew it would be good to get out and be social. It was a much better alternative to staying home alone and staring into her fire in the fireplace and eating cake. She couldn't always bring herself to participate in socialization at this point but just listening would keep her thoughts at bay.

She had ordered three new robes all in white. They hung limply before her in her closet. She grabbed one and slipped it over her head. She glided to the mirror and surveyed her reflection: the neckline hugged the shape of her collarbone and there were laced ribbons on each side of her waist that could be adjusted according to size. The silhouette of the dress accentuated the fact that Mon hadn't been eating.

She threw a long ivory brocade cape around her shoulders and headed to the party.

Mon arrived to a boisterous scene. There had to be at least a hundred people in Vaspar's 500 Republica apartment. Some were picking at the buffet in the dining room, others were conversing leisurely on the terrace with groups spaced about the living room and lounge. Mon couldn't believe her eyes. Vaspar had even hired musicians.

A droid handed her a drink and took her cape. Security had been tight since the power outage but tonight seemed joyful. After so much sadness, people were hungry for an excuse to be happy.

Mon saw Bail and Breha outside and made her way out to the terrace. It was a balmy evening and the whizzing traffic wasn't bad enough to disturb anyone.

"Quite the surprise." Breha indicated the lively scene around her.

"Indeed." Mon agreed as she took a sip of her drink and grabbed an appetizer from a passing catering droid, "Vasp has outdone himself."

"Everyone might be in such a good mood," Bail half smiled, "that we could talk some policy!"

"Mon," Breha whispered in her ear, "don't look now—don't look—there is a man by the balcony doors who has been boring his gaze into you since you walked in."

Mon shut her eyes for a moment before answering: "It's Lieutenant Commander Krennic. He was the one I was trapped with during the attack. Definitely an odd one—very helpful and kind—but odd. I've been working with him on the Chandrilan mine project. You know those science types…"

"He's coming over." Bail observed.

Mon pursed her lips in anticipation. She suddenly was grappling for strength to meet his eye. Krennic appeared beside her.

"Good evening, Senator Mothma," he inclined his head slightly.

"Good evening, Lieutenant Commander," she responded, "You know Senator Organa. This is his wife, Breha. Breha, this is Lieutenant Commander Orson Krennic of the Corps of Engineers."

They exchanged pleasantries.

"Quite the party," Krennic commented.

"We were just saying so." Mon agreed, "Usually, Vaspar's parties are anything but lively. There are even a few unfamiliar faces here. Bail—do you know any of the diplomats?"

"I know a few—but I cannot account for all." He said, "Vaspar mentioned that he extended the invite to the dignitaries' friends."

"Where are they from?" Breha asked.

"All over the galaxy, I'd imagine."

Mon surveyed the humanoid figures dressed in red and brown. Their skin was a wan grey color. They all seemed to be male. The name of their planet was on the tip of her tongue, but it wouldn't come.

Soon Bail switched the subject and he and Krennic were discussing Alderaan architecture. Mon pulled Breha away from them and told her more about the dynamic she had with Krennic.

"Strange." Was all Breha said.

"In a word, yes." Mon admitted, "He is odd, but he has shown a certain loyalty I feel is hard to come by recently. I don't know why, but I feel sorry for him. He's very awkward—he has brilliant ideas but cannot communicate them. Our meeting with my governor was a disaster, but he was so attentive when...Castor..."

"And a mining project on Chandrila!" Breha exclaimed, changing the subject quickly.

"Yes." Mon sighed, "I think it would benefit our economy and the Republic if he can use the kyber crystals found in the Crystal Canyon. He said they could power planets without any access to energy. It's nice to work on something that doesn't have to do with the Wars for once. Something that may do some actual good."

Breha caught her friend's hand in hers and squeezed.

"Where is Padme?" Mon asked, her voice unsteady.

"You know her these days," Breha shook her head slightly, "disappearing, sending random comlink messages from Naboo or Tatooine or wherever she runs off. I think she's in love."

"In love? Padme? She's always so serious!"

"I know—but usually dedicated to her work," Breha said, "Bail mentioned she missed the last preliminary hearing about the trade federation."

"I'll send her a message tonight—that's strange."

"These are strange times." Breha commented as they stood surveying the city. "It's a lovely night—"

"Excuse me, ladies," one of the diplomats approached them with a smile plastered to his grey face, "Would you be so kind as to move inside?"

He opened his arm to guide them back through the door and as he did, Mon spotted a blaster concealed by the bell sleeve of his tunic. It wasn't unusual to see various guests at events sporting firearms, but being that the vast majority of people in attendance were either politicians or diplomats, it struck Mon as unusual. She silently clutched Breha's cloak as they walked back inside. Mon regrouped with Bail and Krennic in the living room.

"Something's not right." She hissed.

But before she could say anything else, the man who had guided them inside raise his hand above his hairless head in the middle of the room. He was clutching his blaster and it was pointed at the high, arched ceiling. The others clad in red went to each door and with swift clicks, locked them.

The man fired his gun once into the ceiling. There were a few short cries of surprise, but then silence fell on the room.

"All right," he said, "Now that I have your attention… I am Hollis Entera of Ri'ek. I am here to demand the immediate retreat of hostile Republican forces from my planet. A message has just been sent to the Chancellor making him aware of our conditions. If they are not met, we will kill someone every hour, on the hour. We will start—"

Mon knew it before he even said it.

"—with you, Senator Mothma."

"This is madness!" Bail cried, "You've made a foolish decision in coming here tonight."

"Ah yes," Entera purred as he stalked toward Organa, "You're next—I'm sorry my aim was off during the power outage."

"Leave us in peace—" Bail ordered, unmoving, "We've attempted to broker agreements repeatedly, but we were attacked. Perhaps we could sit down tonight and discuss? Core senators are in attendance."

"The time for discussions has passed," Entera made a small motion with one hand while pointing the gun at Mon in the other.

The other Ri'ekians moved through the room and began dividing the guests into groups—Mon noticed that each group had at least one senator. Bail and Breha were separated and their groups went to the bedroom and the kitchen. Krennic managed to be put into Mon's group. They were instructed to kneel in the middle of the room and give up their comlinks. Mon put hers into the black bag presented before her. After a second's hesitation, Krennic did the same, but as he handed over the device, he spotted a button on a nearby end table by the sofa. A button that had no business being on the side of a polished wood grain table. A button he recognized.

Mon glanced at Krennic and followed his gaze to the table. She saw the button too but didn't recognize it as anything significant. But the way Krennic looked at it told her otherwise: it needed to be pressed.

The captors moved on and then huddled in a small group, seemingly trying to decide what to do next. They made the temporary mistake of not watching the group left in the living room.

Mon surveyed the people around her: two diplomats from Otheri, an aide from Vaspar's office, Krennic. He caught her eye and jerked his head toward the button. He then slid up to her, closer than Mon deemed really necessary, but close enough that all he needed to do was mouth words to her without making a sound.

""It's a combutton." He explained, "Click it twice—building guards. Click it three times—city police. Click it four times—"

"Four?" Mon mouthed back as Entera turned back round to the group.

"And we have a chatterbox," Entera exclaimed smugly, "Dear me. What are we going to do about this, hm?"

He bolted across the room suddenly, revealing long, sinewy and undulating legs beneath his tunic; they bent back like a bird's. Entera threw his grip around Mon's throat like a vise. He dragged her to her feet as she forced out a strangled cry. Krennic cursed under his breath.

"It's not her fault," Krennic got swiftly to his feet and raised his hands up placidly, "It's not her fault—"

Two other Ri-ekian captors suddently surrounded him with their blasters.

"—I only asked her if she was all right."

Entera's face was immovable for a moment as he regarded Krennic. Mon felt him tighten his grip on her neck and black clouds crept into her vision. She winced and blinked to stay awake. Entera whispered, his lip to her ear.

"It seems," he said, "That your boyfriend is a star liar. No more talking. I hope you can master that."

He threw Mon to the floor and she stumbled toward Krennic, who managed to catch her in his arms.

"Sit down and stay down." Entera screamed. "If anyone—ANYONE—moves, they will be very, very sorry."

"Four?" Mon dared as their captor turned back to his comrades.

"Jedi." Krennic mouthed back.

Mon's eyes grew wide at the realization. The clock on the mantel chimed eight-thirty. The crack of splintering wood echoed from the bedroom and then a sound of a struggle. After a few minutes, Mon could hear Bail's muffled voice but nothing else. Soon there was silence.

* * *

Next chapter coming super soon! Thanks for reading and please review!


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Thanks for the follows and the hits, folks. I appreciate it. I'm glad you're enjoying my story and this rarest of pairs.

* * *

The hostages in the living room froze in horror at the sudden silence from the bedroom. But a wave of relief washed over Mon a moment later when she heard Bail's voice rise in protest:

"We've been fighting _for_ you!" He cried, "We only want peace!"

Another struggle ensued and Mon rose to her feet, believing in vain that she could somehow help her friend. A Ri-ekian captor raced over to her and called Entera over. Entera again took her by the throat. This time, his grip was even tighter and Mon gasped for air in stunted breaths.

"What will it take to tame you, Senator, hm?" His breath was against her cheek.  
A wrist comlink buzzed on a Ri-ekian close to him.

"What is it?" Entera hissed.

The underling replied: "The Chancellor does not wish to negotiate at this time."

Entera focused on Mon as he digested this piece of crucial information.

With his free hand he put the blaster to her temple. "Let's get the festivities started early then, eh? See what he has to say?"

Krennic protested and people began to scream. He was struck in the back of the head by the butt of a blaster gun. He wasn't knocked out, but he did fall to the floor. From his perspective he watched the following exchange:

"Stop!" Mon coughed and tried to wrest her head away from the barrel of the blaster. "Stop—I'm pregnant!"

The room fell suddenly silent at her words. Entera's mouth hung open and Krennic sported a similar reaction. He scrambled to his feet as he watched Entera pull Mon so that she was face to face with him. Entera regarded her without a word for several long, heavy moments. The blaster barrel came slowly away from her temple and disappeared into the sleeve of his tunic. Still gripping her throat, he placed a hand on her abdomen with what Krennic realized was a certain air of reverence. Soon, the other Ri-ekians stalked over to Mon and encircled her, also wanting to touch her. Entera held up his hand to them violently and they moved no further.

One whispered: "Perhaps she is all we need."

Entera let his lips fall over the word: "Pregnant?"

Mon nodded swiftly, "yes, yes. I am."

Krennic watched in amazement.

"Please," she begged Entera pitifully, "I feel faint. Could I have some water, please?"

Without a command, one of the Ri-ekians raced to the kitchen for a glass. Entera gently released her from his grip and guided her over to the sofa, only feet from the combutton. Entera sat between her and the escape.

"How far along are you?" He demanded.

"Only eight weeks."

"That's... perfect." He breathed as he gazed at her.

"Please," she said, holding a hand to her forehead, "it is stifling in here. Could someone open the balcony door?"

A Ri-ekian moved to fulfill her request but then hesitated. Entera barked an order at him and then young man opened the door that led to the balcony. A small breeze then entered the room and succeeded in letting out some tension.

"You have no quarrel with anyone here," Mon said, "Please, let everyone go—and you can have me."

The deal Mon offered Entera was enticing and she could tell by his face that he was seriously considering it. As the dynamic in the room changed and the Ri-ekian captors abandoned the hostage groups in the other rooms, the hostages crept out to see what was happening. Everyone was shocked as they whispered the news to one another.

Entera rose from the sofa and grabbed one of his comrades. Mon watched as he whispered something, but she couldn't quite catch what was said. Her eyes followed the Ri-ekian as he spewed orders into his wrist comlink. They were sending a ship.

"I accept your deal." Entera declared, "We take you, and everyone else gets to go free—wait!"

"...What?" Mon trembled.

"Is he the father?" Entera used his blaster gun to indicate Krennic.

Mon hesitated. "No."

Entera raised his eyebrow smugly at him, "Tsk, tsk, infidelity can be such a struggle!"

Krennic was frozen in disgust. He glanced quickly at Mon whose eyes begged him to remain silent.

"And so who is the father?" Entera pressed.

"He is dead." She jutted her chin out at him indignantly.

The Ri-ekian's grey pallor took on a darker shade; that news was not at all what he wanted to hear.

"Not ideal." He muttered. A comrade whispered in his ear. The ship was on its way.

"So the ship is coming," Mon said, "please—can you start letting people go?"

Entera thought for a moment and regarded her as she sipped the water that had been given to her.

"Not until the ship is here." He stated plainly.

Mon gulped the water down quickly. She set the glass on the table and rose smoothly to her feet.

"Mr. Entera—"

"General."

"Excuse me— _General_ Entera," she said in a cool, steady voice, "I must use the lavatory. May I...?"

Entera gripped her arm and led her to the bathroom. He positioned two guards outside the door.

Krennic held his breath—was there some sort of air vent in the bathroom Mon knew about? Two minutes later she emerged from the room. Apparently not. He tried to make more eye contact with her, but she avoided him. As she came back to the sofa, Mon swooned and fell against the end table. Krennic suppressed a triumphant smile as he saw her thumb make direct contact with the button. She pressed it four times, he observed, holding it down on the fourth.

"General Entera," she spoke in a clear voice as she held herself over the table, making a show of recovery from a fainting spell, "Senator Vaspar's apartment is so stuffy. Do you think we could move to the balcony? You said your ship is coming to take us—could we wait outside? And could you put all weapons away?"

It was a clear message that demonstrated the location, the severity of the situation, and a name of the perpetrator. Krennic was proud.

"You make some large demands," Entera hissed as he helped her to stand. "I can promise to put the weapons away" —he waved his hands and blasters were holstered or put into pockets— "but we will be waiting inside."

"Of course, of course." Mon smiled sweetly and sat back down on the sofa.

Entera paced through the apartment as the hostages watched him silently. The ship had somehow been delayed. Out of the corner of her eye, Mon caught the ripple of a brown cloak on the dark balcony. At the same time, Krennic saw a small purple light appear in the ceiling and start to make a circle around the spot Entera had stopped for a moment, where he was deep in thought as he looked at the shape of Mon. She was as small as could be—especially her waist.

Krennic saw the silent purple beam complete its circle, which caused the ceiling piece to fall directly on top of the captor, crushing him to the floor. Mon dove under the coffee table for safety as Obi-Wan Kenobi dashed in from the balcony and started swinging at laser blasts with his light saber. Mace Windu jumped through the ceiling hole to assist Obi-Wan in fending off the captors' shots. Entera, dazed but unhurt, rose from the broken plaster pile and grabbed Mon by the hair. Krennic moved to save her but she shouted at him to stay back. Entera dragged her through the living room amidst the chaos the Jedi had created and went out to the balcony. The Ri-ekian saw his ship sliding into view.

Back inside, the hostages screamed, scrambling back into the kitchen, bathroom, and bedroom for safety from the firefight. Only Krennic stayed; Mace threw him a confiscated Ri-ekian blaster. The Ri-ekians' aim was no match for the dexterity of the Jedi and soon their blasters were neutralized and Mace called for back up. Senate guards would be on their way. But Obi-Wan and Krennic raced out to the balcony.

They were met with Entera whose gun barrel had found its way back to Mon's head.

"Don't move any further." He roared as the ship rumbled above their heads. "If you do, she dies."

"This is a foolish choice, Entera," Obi-Wan Kenobi said calmly, "put the blaster down."

"Never!" Entera cried, "You interventionist swine! You let us get on the ship! If you don't, this blaster will take off her head!"

"She's too valuable to you, Entera," Krennic called over the din of the engines above them, "You need her too much."

"Shut up!" Entera screamed and aimed his blaster instead at the Lieutenant Commander.

With Entera's arm outstretched before him, it was easy for Obi-Wan to throw down the beam of his light saber upon it in one quick movement. It deftly sliced his limb at the elbow. Entera screeched in pain and, howling like an animal, he shoved Mon against the railing. Then, with some considerable effort, he pushed her over it so that the top of her body dangled far above the unseen Coruscanti earth.

Swifter than lightning, Obi-Wan raced toward the enraged Ri-ekian and ran the light saber through his torso. Krennic leaped into action at the same time and grabbed Mon's flailing arm before Entera's grip became lifeless. He pulled her upright and she sank into a heap on the ground next to the slumped corpse of Hollis Entera, the mastermind of the Senate power outage attack.

A moment later, two Republic starfighters angled their ways through the skyscrapers and shot at the Ri-ekian ship. With a low groan, the craft elevated further into the sky in an attempt to escape. The starfighters followed in quick pursuit.

The hostages emerged once more and now, frozen in the apartment, they gazed at the scene on the balcony. Senate guards burst through the front door and combed the apartment looking for any other captors. None were found. Mon watched in a daze as Mace Windu and the guards rounded up the surviving captors and removed them from the apartment. All, except Entera, were alive.

Mon accepted Krennic's assistance as she got to her feet.

"Are you all right, Senator?" Obi-Wan inquired.

"I am, thank you, Master Kenobi."

"I must accompany Master Windu with the prisoners. I suppose there will be an inquiry about this. I'll see you there. Be well, Senator."

Obi Wan inclined his head toward her as a small farewell. Mon watched from the balcony as the hostages, exhausted and clutching one another, left in small huddles. Vaspar was on the couch with his head in his hands; his wife was next to him. Krennic followed Mon as she entered the apartment.

"Thank you for the eventful evening, Vasp," Mon said with a smile.

In spite of himself, the Senator laughed. He rubbed his face tiredly. Mon said nothing more to him and moved to leave. She retrieved her cloak from the droid and Krennic retrieved his. They were silent until they boarded an airtaxi. Krennic gazed for several moments. She stared straight ahead, training her eyes on the speeding city before her. If she knew he was looking at her, she made no show of it. He watched her a while, specifically focused on her trembling hands, before deciding to speak.

"I... I had no idea..." he made a small gesture to her abdomen.

"Oh!" She cried, "I'm not pregnant."

"...WHAT?"

"Impressed with my deception skills, then?"

"I... _am_." He breathed, "How did you come to that choice?"

"In my recent studies," she explained, "I read that Ri-ekians are fascinated by human reproduction. The reason they are so enamored with us is because they reproduce asexually-and don't have any control over it. They invaded Tatoonine four hundred years ago with the mission to kidnap pregnant women and their mates and perform experiments on them. So I knew that if I told them I was pregnant, it would be the best bargaining chip to play with."

"Incredible." Krennic said.

"Necessary." Mon corrected, "And how did you know about the combutton?"

"Every senate apartment in 500 Republica was retrofitted with a device like that to guard against situations very much like tonight's." Krennic explained, "I was a part of the design for the combutton system. We completed the installation about two years ago."

"Incredible."

"Necessary."

She smiled. He smiled.

"And your bravery was astounding tonight, Senator," Krennic commented.

She shrugged, "When you have nothing left to lose, you become a great negotiator."

There was a pause between them.

"I was ready to sacrifice myself," she said, "for the good of the Republic—for hostages' safety. Ever since... ever since last week, I've come to the realization that I don't need to care anymore. About myself, at least."

"Surely you don't mean that."

Mon looked away so Krennic couldn't see the tears that threatened to come forth from her eyes, but he could hear them. "My future went up in smoke last week—my entire life. What I was so certain of—everything I'd hoped for—was gone. Gone in a moment. For no reason. He wasn't even supposed to be on Mesor! And now that I'm alone, all I'm left with are my thoughts. Thoughts of happy memories, thoughts of things that will never, ever be.

"Castor was my support; he was my encouragement. Everything else in my life was chaotic and busy and complicated. But Castor grounded me. Not only did he ground me, but he was a good person. He was an honest, hardworking and loyal person. And they are so hard to find these days. There aren't very many people who I trust... so now, I am adrift. Left to drown in my racing thoughts of things that will never come to pass."

Krennic was silent as he struggled to say something—anything—that would sound comforting.

She was about to continue, to tell him that she'd secretly wished for the Ri-ekians to take her away, but the words didn't manifest.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Thanks for all the feedback and support! I'm so happy to see this story get such an international audience. (Bringing the world together, one fic at a time.)

* * *

"All secure," Krennic reported to Mon after he'd finished a sweep of her apartment.

"Thank you." She said, offering to take his cape. "Care to stay for a drink?"

Not one to question a brilliant stroke of luck, Krennic nodded as he removed his gloves. He placed himself on the end of the couch by her fireplace and watched her saunter to the wet bar and prepare two drinks. She brought the glasses and the bottle over to the coffee table. She flipped a switch and a fire roared to life in front of them. They sat in silence for a few minutes as they nursed their drinks.

As the liquor warmed her, Mon's senses began to blur. Her proud visage was fading and she welcomed it. She found herself wishing, despite her best efforts, that the man next to her should be her dead fiancé.

"Lieutenant Commander," she said suddenly, "have you ever lost anyone close to you?"

A pause. "No."

Mon took a breath and then a sip, "don't. It's easier that way."

Another pause.

"Tonight, I fleetingly thought I'd be reunited with him." As Castor's face flooded her mind's eye, she fought the urge to kiss Krennic. She rubbed her eyes to rid herself of the thought.

"How long were you together?" Krennic's curiosity was crass.

"A year." She said, "We were engaged after three months. We were reunited at the Corusanti Commemoration Ball last year after having not seen each other since we were children. He was planning on taking a furlough to come with me again this year. I can't bear the thought of attending the ball without him, but I have no choice. The Chancellor expects all Core Senators there in a show of loyalist solidarity."

"I received an invitation," Krennic tried to sound casual, "I wasn't planning on attending, but I will go if you are."

"Would you?" She pressed her hand against his arm, and then, with a sudden shift, laughed bitterly, "I suppose tonight cancelled out my life debt?"

"If you want it to. I think we're even now."

"I don't think that's how it works." Mon smiled sadly, "Well, that _is_ why you're here, isn't it?"

"Not at all!" Krennic actually was truthful, "I accompanied you home because I thought you'd like a companion since your fiancé just passed away and you made some very bold moves in regard to your life tonight. And I think I was right in my assumption."

Several different thoughts of varying emotions whizzed through Mon's head. The liquor in her glass made the feelings hard to distinguish. Her altered cognitive skills came to the decision that she was experiencing something between desperation and recklessness. She couldn't stop picturing Castor next to her. She had to change the subject—she did, but badly.

"So, Lieutenant Commander," Mon poured herself another glass, "who are you when you're not at work?"

Krennic fought the urge to say 'no one' but stopped himself. "Bored."

"A workaholic?" She asked, "What do you do on your days off? Friends? Girlfriend?"

"I don't take days off." He said, "And I don't have a girlfriend at the moment."

"Between paramours, then?" She took a sip—a long sip.

"Something like that."

"Never had one?"

He was silent. He himself knew the truth would be painfully humiliating, but he wondered what his best answer should be.

"Well," she let out a mirthless chuckle, "I suppose we'll both end up alone."

Still, he said nothing.

"I suppose it's probably better that way," she continued, aiming to be self-destructive.

"What?"

"To die alone."

"Senator, I—"

"No, no," Mon shifted her feet so that they tucked neatly beneath her, an action that made her look small, "It's true. It's probably better to not connect with anyone at all—save yourself a lot of trouble so you don't break anyone's heart when you die."

"I think—"

"I mean—that seems to have been what you've done," she continued, her voice strangely even, "How has it worked so far?"

Krennic whittled his answer down to two choices: 'very well' or 'not well at all.'

"No love means no heartbreak." Mon concluded, "That's how it has to be from now on. Have you ever been in love?"

Krennic was mildly surprised at the question and thought Mon a little cruel to ask it, considering he'd already told her he didn't have any type of relationship. He watched as she took another sip of the caustic liquor and hoped she would forget the conversation by morning.

"No."

"Never?"

"…No."

"So it's easier." She commented, "Isn't it?"

"My life has been fairly transient," he explained, "I grew up with no family on one planet, went to school on another, and worked on dozens more. And, I suppose, I've never grown close to anyone because of it."

"Is that what you want?" She asked in a small voice.

"I…" he trailed off for a moment, "I never thought of it in those terms. It was just how it was."

Mon took a swallow. "Do you want love?"

"What do you mean?" His voice and question were genuine.

"Intimacy, vulnerability," Mon murmured as she gazed into the flames, "Someone to hold you? To care for you?"

With each word she uttered, Krennic thought about the night in the storeroom. It seemed to snugly fit her definition of love. He gave a noncommittal shrug as he looked into his glass. She pressed him for an answer.

"It doesn't seem important to me." He finally said, turning the corners of his mouth down and avoiding her gaze.

"You're lucky." She responded, seemingly satisfied with the answer, and turned back to focus on the fire.

They sat in silence, each pretending to be enamored of the flames before them. Krennic turned his attention to Mon, whose green eyes now were hazy with alcohol. A strand of hair, the color of a burning sunset, had fallen down her cheek. Krennic reached across the couch and brushed the errant lock behind her ear. She blushed, but didn't take her eyes off of him. His fingers lingered on her cheek as he slid in closer still; her skin was smooth and soft against his thumb and he let it trace along her jawline. She closed her eyes and leaned into his touch, which willed him further. He rested his fingertips against her chin and guided her so that her face was level with his. Krennic glanced from her eyes to her mouth, which was ever so slightly open and waiting, and then back again. She dragged her teeth across her bottom lip. They hovered there for a long moment, as if on a precipice, tipping slowly downward toward a dark, unknown chasm. Then, with a rush of frenetic abandon, his lips crushed against hers. Mon uttered a small moan of surprise into his mouth, sending a series of billowing vibrations into his body. The sensation caused Krennic to shudder under a powerful surge, which threatened to break his control. He then urged her mouth open, daring the kiss to escalate.

Mon abruptly pulled away, propelled by an explosive burst of guilt. She blinked her eyes open but found that they could not focus. And no matter how much she had wished it, the man before her was not Castor. Her hands flew to her face, overwhelmed by the shame that plagued her.

"I'm—I'm sorry—" she stammered incoherently. Krennic immediately latched onto the contagious guilt and backed away from her.

Suddenly, a large rumble rolled across the city. Startled by the sound and grateful for the distraction, Mon raced to the window with thoughts of an imminent attack. Krennic did the same but hung back a few feet away from her. A large squadron of A-wings sped by, no doubt going off to a Separatist dogfight. Mon took a breath not unlike a gasp and passed her hand across her face tiredly.

"It's madness." She whispered as she watched them disappear into the atmosphere.

In the Coruscanti moonlight, she looked small and pale—a fragile girl very different from the woman in the firelight. Krennic knew that he'd made an error by even coming back to her apartment. He hadn't expected the guilt coursing through him and all at once, the consequences of what was starting there that night were too much. He crept backward toward the door, praying that she wouldn't turn around. Before fleeing, he uttered the words:

"I—I must go."


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Thank you so, so much for the response to this story of mine. It's just flying out of my head right now and I'm riding the wave—hence the quick updates. I'm a serial abandoner of stories and I vow to not be a deadbeat to this one. All of your favorites and reviews mean a lot to me. Thanks so much for the feedback. Sometimes I feel like I'm writing into the ether and it's nice to know someone's out there reading and enjoying.

* * *

The Galactic Courts of Justice was a white stoned pyramidal structure. Mon Mothma wasn't particularly fond of the architectural style, nor of the proceedings that went on there. It was a favorite area of the Chancellor's; all amendments to the Constitution were created here—without the permission of the Senate. She usually avoided the place altogether.

On this grey morning, however, Mon was called by the Courts to give a deposition on both attacks orchestrated by the Ri-ekian Separatists. She was surprised at how quickly plans for an inquiry had been put together; it hadn't been very long after the hostage incident. Usually the bureaucracy would hold everything up for months at a time. Perhaps someone in charge had expedited the process, though she couldn't begin to guess the reason.

She gazed at the looming structure as her airtaxi drew closer and took a deep breath. It was going to be a long morning.

Ri-ek had been a hotbed of instability for years, especially after the Republic had taken over the planet in order to access its vast amounts of energy resources. When the stores had been exhausted, the Republic stopped funding drilling operations and gradually thousands of Ri-ekians had lost jobs. Already at odds with the Republic over vastly different cultural values, the planet had several different bones to pick with what they deemed to be imperialistic overlords.

These facts weighed heavily on Mon's mind as she coursed through the labyrinthine corridors of the Courts. She told her aides to stay at the office and prepare for the Chandrilan mining meeting at one o'clock so she arrived at the deposition without her usual entourage. The waiting room was host to a few people from Vaspar's party as well as some Senators from the Outer Rim. Mon half-expected to see Krennic somewhere about, but he wasn't there. She realized it had been over two weeks since she'd seen him that night in her apartment. The memory of the kiss would ambush her at random times, pulling all of her attention from whatever task she had been trying to accomplish and throwing her into a distracted daydream. The reason why he left so abruptly haunted her regularly.

She gave a small wave to Obi-Wan Kenobi, who was seated in the corner. A quick conversation revealed that Mace had already given his statement and that Obi-Wan was scheduled to go directly after Mon. They sat in silence for a moment, waiting.

"Nervous?" The Jedi asked the Senator after a pause.

"A little." She replied, "No reason to be, I know, but still…"

He patted her elbow: "I'm sure there's nothing for you to worry about. I do these types of things all the time. Go in there, tell them what you know, and that's it. Here, I think they're beckoning you."

"Indeed they are. Well, off I go." She rose.

Mon gave a half smile over her shoulder to the Jedi Master and entered the deposition room. It was just as white and stark as the exterior of the building. A recording droid sat waiting in the corner. Mon thought a nice piece of artwork might just spruce up the place.

Maybe not.

There were two counselors waiting for her at a table; one was a humanoid male with sparkling brown skin from Dantooine and the other was a human female who was, it seemed, from Corellia. They both sat wan and unsmiling—an indicator that they had been conducting depositions for days. _Not a good sign_ , Mon thought as she took her place across from them.

The droid made a buzz and then settled into a low hum as it did its work.

"State your name for the record, please." The Corellian began.

"Mon Mothma."

"Age?"

"Twenty-six."

"Planet of origin?"

"Chandrila."

"Occupation?"

"Senator for Chandrila in the Chandrilan System, Bormea Sector."

"How long have you been employed by the Republic?"

"Seven years."

"All right, Senator," the Dantooinian said, "I am Desai Muro and I am the attorney assigned to the Ri-ekians. This is Bena Imruu, the assigned attorney representing the people of the Republic. All right then, please tell us what happened the night of the power outage at the Senate."

Mon took a breath and relayed her memories of the night: the scrambling into darkness, the screaming, the storeroom.

"So Lieutenant Commander Krennic led you to safety?" Imruu asked.

"Yes."

"And it was still complete darkness when he got you to the storeroom? Could you see anyone around you?" Muro asked.

"Complete darkness. I couldn't see anyone—but… well, no," Mon recalled the memory in her mind's eye, "There was some sort of light source I remember now—but I can't recall what it was."

"It says here," Muro looked at a tablet in front of him on the table, "that the Lieutenant Commander used the illumination feature on his wrist comlink to find the storeroom."

"It was some sort of light source but not a comlink."

"Are you certain?" Muro pressed.

"He told me he didn't have one."

"Hm, well, maybe in the heat of the moment…" Muro said.

"Yes, it must've been chaotic." Imruu added.

"Perhaps." Mon shifted in her seat.

"No matter," Muro continued, "it's not truly relevant—"

"So the Lieutenant Commander has already given his statement, then?"

"Yes, er…" Imruu checked her records with a swipe of her finger, "…sent this morning from Chandrila, in fact."

"I see." Mon tore at the inside of her lip so violently that she tasted the tang of blood.

"So you stayed in the storeroom the entire night?" Muro kept his eyes trained on his tablet as he asked the question.

"Yes," Mon cleared her throat with an ugly sound, "And well into the next day."

They continued with the same line of questioning for the hostage incident, but a part of her mind shut down. Her thoughts were wrapped up in the reasoning behind Krennic's decision to lie to her about not having his comlink. Mon robotically gave her account of the event: Krennic and the combutton, her key knowledge of Ri-ekian culture, the Jedi rescue, and finally, Entera's death.

As she recalled her story, doubt sprouted in her mind about the lack of response from the Chancellor when he had full knowledge of what had been occurring. She decided to keep those thoughts silent.

The whole deposition lasted around two hours. The counselors thanked her and she was dismissed. Mon opened the door and revealed Obi-Wan Kenobi standing before her. His face fell as he saw her emerge, pale and drawn. She forced a smile at him as she left. He watched Mon go down the corridor, her long cream robes trailing behind her.

After forcing herself to eat a little bit of lunch, Mon went to the mining meeting as scheduled. She and the rest of her staff arrived early and took prime seats at the table, which was a hallmark of Chandrilan political strategy. She positioned herself in the middle of the long table with several aides on either side. A few minutes after she entered, the representatives from the Corps of Engineers came in.

Even though Mon knew it was unlikely, she still found herself searching for Krennic among them. The meeting was conducted as scheduled, without any interruption or surprise. It seemed the mine was coming along nicely and would be ready for production soon. Mon was heartened to see that they had hired one thousand local Chandrilan workers. Still, throughout the meeting, she came back to the thought of that reckless kiss but now it was accompanied by Krennic's growing lies.

* * *

With all of her pressing matters over for the day, Mon decided for once not to spend the evening catching up on work in her office. She instead went to Padmé's.

"Hello, stranger," Padmé looked up at Mon from her reading. The Naboo Senator rose from her chair and guided her friend to the sofa against the adjacent wall.

"I should say the same!" Mon exclaimed as they sat down together, "You've missed quite a few things while you've been gone."

"Bail told me all about it this morning," Padmé grasped her hand, "He said you were amazing."

"I don't know about that," Mon shrugged, "I did what was necessary."

"You're unbelievable Mon, truly," she said, "Take credit—you deserve it."

"Thank you," Mon smiled, "So, tell me. Who is he?"

"Whatever do you mean?" Padmé huffed coyly.

"You've been gone so much!" Mon cried, "I get comlink messages from Naboo… from Tatooine… from wherever!"

"All very important business matters."

Mon eyed her.

"I…I have met someone…"

"I knew it! I knew it!" Mon whispered mischievously.

"What—did Bail and you have a bet or something?"

"You—knew about the bet?"

"Oh, wow, all right," Padmé threw up her hands, "I was just joking…Am I that obvious?"

"Happens to the best of us, my dear."

"Hmmm… yes," Padmé narrowed her eyes, "The same could be said for a certain member of the Corps of Engineers, no?"

"Um—what?"

"Bail mentioned—"

"For a middle-aged married man," Mon commented not unkindly, "He _is_ overly concerned with our private lives, isn't he?"

"He's the _worst_ gossip in the Senate," Padmé laughed, "If you ever have a secret, he should be the last person you would ever allow to keep it. But Mon, Bail told me about how an engineering officer is getting brazenly close to you especially in light of—your recent loss."

"We are working on a Chandrilan mining project together." Mon explained.

"Hm, well just be careful," Padmé said, "You've been through so much. Mon, we don't want to see you get hurt. Remember what you said about the Corps to begin with."

"My opinion has evolved." Mon stated, "I was wrong to presume that they were a guise for the Chancellor's unconstitutional pet projects. Krennic is—dedicated."

"Mon," Padmé said, "even _you_ don't believe what you're saying."

"I believed them for a short while," she sighed, "But after my deposition this morning..."

"What?"

"I found out that he lied," Mon said, "It's stupid—really...it's two small things."

Padmé waited.

"On the night of the Senate attack," Mon took a breath, "He said he didn't have a comlink on him when in fact he _did_ —and we spent the next _eighteen hours_ locked in that closet. I can't help but wonder if there was some sort of ulterior motive to keep me there. _And_ he also apparently is on Chandrila and didn't feel the need to tell me."

"You could speak with him about it," Padmé suggested lamely.

"I'm not sure I even want to take that path." Mon threw her head back against the couch. "Padmé, this is chaos. How do we ever know we're doing anything right?"

"We can only hope."

* * *

The inquiry chamber, a windowless, internal room, was frigid. Mon's hands were shaking; she was anxious about multiple things that day, but being seated next to Orson Krennic was near the top of the list. She hadn't seen him in nearly a month. The only contact they had was through transmissions about the mine. There had been no explanation about his going to Chandrila without telling her, let alone why he'd left her so hurriedly after they'd kissed. The only reason she could come up with about the kiss was that he'd felt wrong about it—as she did—and couldn't face her to discuss it. Maybe it was better that way.

She was the third person to take the stand after Mace and Obi-Wan. She surveyed the stadium seats before her which were filled with senators, guards, and judges. Krennic, in his usual white, stood out from the mottle of color. On his chest, she observed, were a few more squares. It seemed that since they had last seen each other, he had been promoted to full commander. Mon arranged her robes as she settled into the seat.

"Senator Mothma," Imruu started, "please explain your vantage point during the night of the Senate attack."

Mon complied and gave her response in a clear, loud voice. Her gift of public oration was largely responsible for her election and it kept her in office. Her voice was calm and unwavering, though the witness stand obstructed her trembling knees. Imruu lobbed a few more simple questions at her, and Mon responded in kind. She took a breath and felt her shoulders relax.

"And the hostage incident at Senator Vaspar's apartment?" Imruu asked, "Can you explain to the court what happened on that night?"

Mon described the way in which Entera had divided the senators into separate groups. She described their weapons and their demeanor. She mentioned how they were willing to negotiate with the Chancellor. She also mentioned the Chancellor's refusal to deal with the terrorists.

"We never, ever negotiate with terrorists," Mas Amedda cut into the proceedings and stood, "You know that, Senator Mothma."

"I _do_ know that," she stopped herself from gritting her teeth, "But for the Chancellor to be _aware_ of this happening and then fail to _send_ anyone—"

"The Jedi responded, no?" Amedda came down from his seat and strode onto the court room floor. With a reptilian flick of his hand, Bena Imruu immediately moved from the podium.

"The Jedi arrived because of the combutton I pushed," Mon fought to keep the tone of her voice in check; she couldn't tell if she was successful, "The one—"

"—Installed by the Corps of Engineers, yes." Amedda smiled unkindly as his voice took on a slow and deliberate fashion, as if he were speaking to a small child. "The design of the device is a testament to the expertise of Commander Krennic and his team—"

"Of course it is! But—"

"But wouldn't you agree then," Amedda strode around her stand slowly, "Senator Mothma, that the safety measures put into place by the Republic _did_ save you?"

"In a way, I suppose—but—"

"But nothing," Amedda said, "the Republic had a plan set into place for this very type of event, and it proved to be effective. The fact that the Chancellor avoided negotiations meant that he adhered to protocol. To say otherwise smacks of sedition."

"I am not being seditious!" Mon declared, "Everyone knows where my loyalties lie! I'm merely saying that the rescue should have come from the Chancellor because he knew about it! But the _only_ reason the Jedi were even there was because I pushed the button!"

"But you mentioned in your deposition that Commander Krennic alerted you to the combutton's existence and purpose in the first place?"

"Yes." Mon's blood started to race through her veins at an unhealthy speed.

"So _you_ weren't the _only_ reason there was a rescue."

"That's not what I meant," she protested, "I owe _everything_ to Commander Krennic—he saved me during both attacks!"

"So you lied about you being the only reason the Jedi were there?"

"I didn't lie—I don't lie!"

Amedda pulled up a holotablet from the counselor's table. "But it says here from witnesses that you lied about being pregnant that night."

"But my life was in danger!" Her words echoed off the chamber walls, "I made it up—"

"So you _did_ lie?"

"I _did_ —to neutralize the situation."

Amedda turned to an aide who had been in charge of the record, "did you get all that?"

The aide nodded nervously.

Mon looked into the audience for help because she felt she was losing her mind: Bail and Padme looked enraged. Krennic didn't meet her eyes and she felt a pang of betrayal. She tore at her hands to keep from screaming. This was not simply an inquiry about the terrorist attacks. This was something else entirely.

"Did you feel that your life was in direct danger at any time?" Amedda was now apparently the official counsel.

"Yes," Mon responded slowly, maybe too sarcastically, "When I was being choked, when a blaster was against my temple, oh, and when Hollis Entera aimed to drop me over the balcony railing."

"You find it amusing, Senator?" Amedda created a mask of shock on his face. The crowd stirred.

"No." Mon sighed and tried keep a grip on some semblance of calm. "I just find it unbelievable that you're asking me these questions when the answers are obvious. I've known about a bounty on my head since the night of the power outage. And ever since then, I've constantly felt that my life is in danger."

"Oh _dear_." Amedda drawled, "And how did you find this out?"

"Commander Krennic informed me on that night."

Krennic shifted in his seat. Bail Organa caught the movement in his periphery and gave a sidelong glance to the engineer.

"Commander Krennic!" Amedda exclaimed, "Well, we've heard nothing of the sort on our end..."

He trailed off for a moment before approaching the witness stand. The Vice Chancellor leaned on the structure in a friendly, almost conspiratorial way. His back faced the audience.

"I think you're tired—overwhelmed," he said softly, "Perhaps you need some time away."

"If I seem out of sorts," Mon whispered as she shook, "It's because I not only know someone wants me out of my position but also that I'm sitting here being smeared."

Amedda smiled and patted her hand. Mon yanked it away from his touch. He gave her a brief withering look, a warning, before turning back to the crowd.

"Thank you, Senator Mothma," He announced as his back was to her, "No further questions."

Mon pursed her lips and glanced above the top row of seats as she made her way back to her spot. There was a small black circle in the wall next to the spotlights that illuminated the dais. Mon knew it was the camera for the feed to the Chancellor's office. He had seen everything.

Krennic was called next. The counselor treated him in a much more structured fashion. Soon, after a few cursory questions and their answers, Amedda rose again. He smiled at Krennic.

"So, Commander," he started, "Before I begin I just want to say thank you for your heroism on both nights. So many people, especially Senator Mothma, are extremely fortunate to have you around. A well-deserved promotion."

"Thank you, Vice Chancellor," Krennic publicly basked in the show of adoration but secretly cursed Amedda; he'd wanted to be moved to Rear Admiral. His request was denied out of hand, but Amedda was good at putting on a show.

"As Senator Mothma alleged," Amedda said, "Did you inform her of a possible assassination plot against her?"

"If I did, she misunderstood my words." Krennic stated.

Mon felt as if the floor had been pulled from under her. Another lie. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. She shot up from her seat.

"He said Master Kenobi told him!"

There was a murmur among the audience. Obi-Wan looked completely ambushed.

"Senator!" Amedda scolded her and then waved his hand at the panel of judges to keep them from submitting formal objections or rebukes, "Please refrain from speaking out of turn or I shall have you removed from this inquiry."

Mon opened her mouth to say something but stopped herself and sat back down. Padme, who was behind her, placed a hand on her shoulder.

The rest of Krennic's questions were conducted respectfully and without interruption or disturbance because Mon sat in stunned silence. After the court broke for recess, she heard an audience member utter one sentence:

"She hasn't been the same since she lost Castor."

And then another:

"It's obviously getting to be too much; I'm sure a resignation is in order."

Mon fumed and, abandoning both Bail and Padme, stormed out of the room and fled back to her Senate office, which was abuzz with its usual chatter. She blew past her aides' cubicles and ignored their reminders about the day's remaining meetings. Mon slammed her office door shut and went directly to her desk. In one broad sweeping motion she relieved the desktop of its contents.

The talking outside her office stopped. There was a small knock at the door. An aide, Gema, poked her head in meekly.

"Um—excuse me, Senator," her lip quivered, "but um—"

"What is it?"

"Lieut—"

Mon heard Krennic briskly correct Gema from the other side of the door.

"Sorry, sir," the aide said, "Commander Krennic is—"

"He needs to come back later." Mon blew out her breath, exasperated.

Gema hesitated and looked back over her shoulder. "Um—"

Mon sighed and closed her eyes for a moment before shifting her mood. "Show him in."

She figured putting this off would only prolong the terrible feeling sinking into her chest, but there was also an inexplicable bitter urge to fight him on this. Mon never, ever resorted to arguments in any context but especially when it came to work; diplomacy and peace were the routes she always chose. But Krennic's actions had released something in her—something a little wild.

Mon had prided herself on her honesty and expected it in return, especially from those close to her. She wondered if opening up her planet to such a thing like mining was the best decision, considering the man in charge was being exposed as one who so easily deceived. It would destroy her reputation if things went wrong. With those thoughts weighing heavily on her conscience, she turned and faced the window— she decided that as something of a punishment, he would be presented with her back upon entry to the room. Mon heard the door open and the familiar rustling of that white tiered cape. She trained her eyes on the airspeeders.

"You lied to me." She voice wasn't above a whisper.

"I can—"

"You lied to me," Mon spun around to face him and advanced around her desk so that they were only feet apart, "You lied and said there was a plot to assassinate me. You lied and said you didn't have a comlink. You lied—"

"I didn't lie—"

"You made me _believe_ that my life was in danger!" She hissed, "Why would you do that? Why would you allow me to spend hours shivering in a dark closet when you had a way out? Why would you ever do that to me?"

"Senator—"

"Don't." she jabbed her finger up to his face, "Don't. I can't _believe_ this. I was humiliated on the stand."

"Now how is that my fault?" Krennic countered and suddenly the shame of the past few weeks without her melted away into anger, "I can't help it if you can't handle Amedda's interrogation tactics."

"Easy—so easy—for you to say!" Mon was livid but kept her voice low, "You were not subject to them. He played by a whole different rule book when you were on the stand. I was made to be the incompetent, hysterical damsel—and you, the hero."

"Please tell me how Amedda lied."

"He didn't but he twisted everything to discredit me," Mon said, "He does it any chance he gets. Believe me, if someone were tasked to dispatch me, he'd be the one behind it—I am certain of that."

Her cheeks were pink.

"I thought we—I thought we were on the same side." She finished quietly.

"That's true, the side of the Republic." Krennic said slowly.

Mon's teeth tugged at her bottom lip as she regarded him ruefully for a moment. "Yes. The Republic."

Another pause. Mon hoped that Krennic would have taken the opportunity then to issue an apology for not coming to her defense or clarifying what she had said to Amedda on the stand. Or maybe he would explain why he'd not told her he had a comlink the night they had been trapped. Or why he'd gone to Chandrila without her knowledge. Or why he didn't tell Amedda that she lied to save them all. He knew full well that she was a crucial part of neutralizing the hostage takers and he could've set things straight.

But he didn't.

Instead, he placed both hands on her shoulders and offered her a small, tepid smile. Her uncharacteristic display of emotion had given him the confidence he'd needed to recover because he realized that now he was back in control. She frowned in disappointment at his placidity.

"Why did you come to see me?" She asked. He lifted his hands off her and produced a tablet from a dossier under his arm.

"There's a small addendum to the mining budget—"

"You've _got_ to be joking." Mon threw her hands up then closed her eyes for a second. "You—how—I—HOW can you be so heroic and valiant but also SO bloody incorrigible?"

"That question is a trap."

"Fine—what do I need to sign?"

Krennic handed the tablet to her. Mon illuminated it quickly and lasered her signature to the document. She was too angry to read it.

"There." She slapped the tablet against his chest, but he didn't flinch.

Part of him was indignant, but he knew that she was only angry at herself for causing a scene during the inquiry. But another part of him was dying to touch her again and he knew that staying on her bad side would not remedy that issue. He was therefore presented with only a few options. Against his own rational pride, he made a quick choice.

"Mon," it was the first time her name had passed through his lips and it softened her, "Forgive me, I misremembered what I had told you the night of the Senate attack. I'm sorry the Vice Chancellor treated you the way he did."

She was done fighting for the day. She passed her hand over her face tiredly. Her eyes were tear-laden.

"Congratulations on the promotion, Commander."


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Thank you to everyone for reading and reviewing. I appreciate your support as always—let's have some more fun with these characters… and dance on the edge of that mysterious concept of OOC….

* * *

Mon propped her head against her palm as she listened to the Chancellor speak. The meeting for the new trade regulations had already lasted two hours. She swiveled her chair in Padme's direction. If Mon felt tired, Padme looked downright exhausted. Work at the senate had been chaotic and it seemed that just in the past few weeks, there would be no end to it. In spite of everything that had happened between them, she found herself daydreaming about Krennic during boring meetings, about how he had pulled forth such strong emotions from her against her will. She concluded during that trade regulation meeting that he was as different from Castor as any person could be. She also didn't know what to make of that fact.

Her holotablet buzzed with a text message. She furtively slid it off the conference table and into her lap. A message from Krennic:

 _First numbers coming in from the mine. 3,000 standard tons is what they're reporting. This is the most found on one planet—and it's only the first week. Very exciting._

She exhaled, grimly satisfied, and put the holotablet back onto the table. So all of her public humiliation had not been in vain.

Krennic reviewed the numbers from his office at the headquarters for Republic Military Operations. Things were going well—maybe too well, but he pushed the thought aside—and it was largely because Mon Mothma had agreed to open the door of industry to her rusticated planet. It seemed he had held his breath for several weeks when he had been avoiding her. Perhaps it was time to breathe again.

Krennic strode down the level three hallway toward the Chandrilan senate offices, his mind rehearsing a few lines. With his cloak fluttering behind him, he stepped into the busy room and flagged down the first aide he saw.

"I need to see Senator Mothma."

"Good morning, Commander," Gema replied, "The Senator is currently in the hearing chamber. But I—"

Krennic turned on his heel and went out the door. He dismissed Gema's protestations about not bothering Mon with a flick of his hand. He only had to wait a few minutes outside the chamber door before the meeting adjourned. He spotted Mon leaving with Padme.

"You must get some rest," Mon said to her as they walked, "You look positively drained."

"I feel terrible—" Padme froze and fell silent as Krennic approached them.

"Good afternoon, Senator Mothma." Krennic said with a nod of his head.

"Good afternoon, Commander," Mon said, "you remember Senator Amidala."

"Of course," he said quickly.

Padme shot Mon a look and then fabricated a swift reason for an exit and turned to go down the hall.

"What is it, Commander?" Mon asked when they were alone.

"Dinner tonight?"

Krennic raised an eyebrow and looked down at her with his eyes lowered. He had expected her to blush. He had expected her to maybe give a little giggle. He had expected her to say yes because simple questions like the one he'd just asked were usually answered in the affirmative. He'd planned out how he'd ask it and settled on brevity being the best, most direct option. He, of course, forgot to factor in one major truth which therefore made his entire approach fatally flawed: in his experience, the women who said yes to those types of questions were those who got paid at the end of the night.

"Why?" She blinked once at him.

Krennic, for all his preparation (in the shape of mental flow charts and schematics), was caught off-guard. He wholly lacked the interpersonal skills to meaningfully discuss this type of subject at any depth. He flung a string of expletives at himself for not designing a contingency for this scenario.

She started down the hall and he made a little dash to keep up with her pace.

"I thought… you might want to." He cleared his throat.

"To go out with you?"

"…Yes."

Her pace quickened and she thought for a moment. He gave her a sidelong glance and noted her furrowed brow and a grim frown. Not a good sign.

"No."

"Why?" Krennic couldn't make the connection that Mon somehow responded differently than the average high-class escort.

"Maybe it's because I'm still mourning," she gritted her teeth to keep her voice down as they passed colleagues, " and _maybe_ it's because you've been nothing but deceptive and dishonest while also being intensely loyal, heroic and protective and I find that juxtaposition intensely confusing and unsettling?"

"I—I—" He sounded like a shorted droid. He closed his mouth and gave up.

"You prefer to work in logical terms, yes?" Mon asked as they approached her office, "The tangible, correct?"

"I do—"

"Good." Mon stopped short of going in, "Then consider our interactions cumulatively. Why in the world would I ever logically agree to go out with you?"

"Because you want me in spite of it."

"You seem very certain of your beliefs." Mon declared.

"You seemed very certain of yours when you _moaned_ into my mouth while we—"

Mon gasped. The Corellian delegation walked by and had pretended not to hear his words. She pulled him into the Chandrilan offices, past her obviously eavesdropping aides, and into her private office. She spoke only when the door had slid tightly shut.

"Physical attraction is _not_ the same as going to dinner." She said.

Krennic sensed a victory somewhere in that line. "All right, then why not just come back to my place—by your logic." She was getting worked up; he had the upper hand again.

"All right," she said, settling into the chair behind her desk, a move Krennic noted as a power play, "Let's try to see things from my perspective. You've consistently used your power and position to deceive me and you've single-handedly dismantled my credibility."

"Not single-handedly—you helped."

Mon swallowed to calm herself. "I regret my actions in the inquiry chamber but only because you are attempting to needle me with them right now. I stand by what I said. I'm sorry you don't see the truth in my words."

"So the trust between us is lost?"

"I would say so, yes!" Mon leaned back in her chair, "So let's be honest from now on."

"Oh yes, _let's_." He almost rolled his eyes about how dishonest she was being with herself.

"So a way to gain my trust," she said, "is to be honest."

"Full disclosure." Krennic nodded.

"From now on."

"From now on." He repeated.

"Because I truly don't have time for anything else," she said, pretending to draw her attention to the work on her desk, "And I'm sure you don't either."

"Well, then," he said, picking up the invitation before her, "you _are_ coming to dinner with me."

"Excuse me?"

"The Environmental Fund dinner," He dangled the invite in front of her, "I'll see you there."

Mon took a breath to speak but then elected to remain silent. She realized he derived the will to live from subterfuge and felt sorry for him. She'd also forgotten that the dinner was that night. They were to be seated at the same table, as they would be representing responsible mining practices. Mon rose from her desk and walked over to him. She paused as she formulated the proper words. She didn't want him to ultimately use her lack of mourning period against her and therefore went with what was truly on her mind.

"I want to believe you," she said, "I do. But Orson, I want to feel a certain way—about you, I mean. But the way you treat me doesn't allow me to feel it."

* * *

Mon dreaded sitting across from the Commander at the dinner that night and combated a nasty wave of exhaustion as she anticipated his arrival. She felt like she was going to emotional war every time she spoke with him now. Mon looked around the room. The senate event space was decorated in various examples of plant life from around the galaxy. Some were in domed containers, others sprawled across the floor, looking for scraps of food. She herself felt like a badly tended plant.

Hors d'oeuvres were being passed and there was some time to mingle before the speakers began and they had to take their seats. She took refuge in the company of her senate colleagues, not wanting to be caught off guard when he finally showed up.

Krennic arrived at his preplanned time—not too early so that he wouldn't seem overly eager and not too late so that there would still be time to network. He strode into the room and immediately zeroed in on the cynosure in white. She seemed to glow in her cream gown with its shraa silk gored skirt and the ruched corseted bodice. He could've sworn she was a kyber crystal herself.

He spoke with a few engineering colleagues, and a few Special Weapons colleagues, before he finally saw her alone at the bar. He then came in for a landing.

"Good evening, Senator," he purred, "You look—"

 _Ravishing? Gorgeous? Like something out of a fever dream I had last week? Like a legendary goddess of light, wisdom, and beauty? Like a spritely sky-nymph tumbling through a wooded Chandrilan glen? Like the personification of my rescue from my excruciatingly isolating existence of perpetual loneliness?_

"…great."

"Thank you, Commander." She popped a Naboo cherry into her mouth, "A vision in ivory yourself, as usual."

Krennic let the little jab slide as he studied her. The cheeks were pink again and he noticed her lips were reddened as well. Everything about her coloring told him she was ripe and ready. He eyed her as she turned toward the room to survey it. The cut of her bodice hugged her chest just so that it allowed her breasts to swell against the border of fine crystalline stitching as she took each breath.

She grabbed a passing puff pastry and went back to her senatorial stronghold, this time bolstered by Obi-Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker, who represented the Jedi at the dinner. Krennic scowled and skulked off to mingle with another group. He didn't have the patience to schmooze with that crowd.

"So Padme," Mon said with a smile, "How was your most recent trip to Naboo?"

"Relaxing," she replied, "I of course had good company."

Obi-Wan, who was standing next to Padme, worked to keep his mouth from twisting into a smile. Mon caught it and felt victorious; Padme's secret revealed at last.

"So Senator," Obi-Wan said to Mon, "I trust you are well."

"Yes, thank you, Master Kenobi," Mon nodded, "Always busy. Very glad the whole madness of the inquiry is over and I can get back to the madness that is my job."

 _And my life,_ Mon thought.

"What projects are you currently involved with?" He asked, "I know your focuses are usually either peacemaking or the environment."

"Once Geonosis is stabilized," she explained, "We'll be working to clean up its atmosphere. Padme and I are also working on a Moisture Farming Bill and I've just OK'ed a kyber mining project on Chandrila, of all places."

"…What type of mine?" Obi-Wan's face morphed into disbelief.

"Kyber…" Mon said and looked at him quizzically.

"How long has it been in operation? Is it recent?" He inquired immediately.

"Quite recent," Mon's pulse quickened at the look on his face, "The resources were found by chance several months ago and Commander Krennic and the Corps of Engineers have set up the project. We're hoping to provide Outer Rim planets with inexpensive energy, which is why we are here tonight—"

"Commander Krennic set this up?" Obi-Wan snapped.

"Yes."

The Jedi Master began to scan the crowd for Krennic and broke away from the group.

"I—I don't understand—" Mon stammered as she watched him search.

"Kyber crystals are exclusively used by the Jedi," Anakin explained with an edge to his voice, "But I'll forgive your gross ignorance, Senator, because no one is really supposed to know that fact."

Obi-Wan Kenobi came back to the group: "Senator, I need you to find the Vice Chancellor Amedda. I'll find Krennic and we need to discuss this _now_. Choose the meeting room down the hall."

Mon nodded and followed orders, even if the last thing she wanted to do was have direct contact with the Vice Chancellor. She extracted Mas Amedda from what seemed to be a rather important conversation. He was less than happy about the interruption but after Mon gave a quick explanation for it, he gave her a wry smile and followed her out. What Mon didn't know was that, in spite of the fact that they were working on the same side, Amedda would take any opportunity to revel in schadenfreude when it came to Krennic.

They found the meeting room down the hall and found Obi-Wan and Krennic already there. They took opposing seats at the small table.

"All right—let's hear it." Amedda took a seat next to Krennic as he sent a text message on his comlink. Mon sat next to Kenobi. She still had a cocktail napkin and a drink in hand.

"Excuse me, Vice Chancellor—" Krennic began.

"The kyber mine," Obi-Wan said, "The kyber mine you're running without the permission or the knowledge of the Jedi—"

"I meant no offense," Krennic placed his hand to his chest in what should have been a display of sincerity, "I only hope to build our energy program and provide—"

"The mine has to be transferred into the hands of the Jedi immediately."

Amedda contorted his lip for a moment, in thought, before nodding in assent.

"Vice Chancellor," Krennic growled suddenly. He displayed a level of insubordination that mortified Mon. "We need to negotiate this."

"The kyber crystals are ours!" Obi-Wan exclaimed, "The Jedi have used them for generations! You were most certainly not following protocol. How did you find out about them on Chandrila?"

"I told him," Mon confessed ruefully, "He's known since the night of the Senate attack. I'm so sorry, Master Kenobi—"

He was silent as he stared at her.

"The stores on Chandrila are vast," Krennic persisted as he tugged at his tunic's collar, "I'm sure we can work something out—"

"No." Obi-Wan thundered.

Krennic was silent but looked to Amedda for help. The Vice Chancellor shrugged indifferently; he had to. The Emperor had long expressed displeasure at the Jedi's meddling—he had even hinted at a Jedi Rebellion. Amedda figured that they would be dealt with soon enough. He decided that finding another energy source for the superweapon would be Krennic's problem, not his. He took great satisfaction watching the Commander start to sweat and tremble as he came to terms with the reality before him: he thought his project was crumbling. Amedda knew the superweapon project would never crumble, but he was more than willing to hand over the kyber stores to the Jedi if it meant he could watch Krennic squirm. He couldn't wait to tell Tarkin.

Amedda stood, signaling that the impromptu meeting was over. The others stood, as well. Krennic and Mon Mothma watched the Vice Chancellor and Obi-Wan leave and return to the dinner. The Commander stood frozen as Mon headed for the door as well. It slid open and she stepped through. As soon as the latch clicked and she was in the corridor, she heard a growl and the crack of a chair being overturned.

Mon knew that going back into the room would be a fool's errand. She knew it. She knew that by crossing back through the threshold, she would involve herself in something she didn't belong in, and worse, couldn't fix. Her finger, however, hovered over the open button as she listened to him send a few harried messages into his comlink. She then heard three bangs, as if a gloved fist were making contact with a wall.

She pressed the button.

Orson Krennic was a man who knew posture conveyed power. It was for this reason that he held himself upright in almost all instances. He'd trained his spine to remain straight, so much so that people always thought he was taller than he actually was. Mon had grown used to him looking down at her, with his back straight and his eyes half-mast.

It was this fact that made his hunched form so foreign to her as she approached him. He held onto the back of a chair, his head in a downward position. He was mumbling; whether it was into his comlink or to no one in particular, she couldn't tell. She was also unsure as to whether or not he knew she was there.

But it was his rough, uneven breath that startled her. Mon rushed over to him and inspected his face. Beads of sweat pricked his hairline; his cheeks were florid. His entire body seemed to quiver with rage. His eyes conveyed that he was deep in thought and Mon figured he was trying to figure out a way to keep a few of the crystals from being turned over to the Jedi. His lips moved wordlessly as he jabbed his thumb against his forehead as he thought. He was a madman.

"Orson?"

"Go."

"Are you all right?"

"What kind of a question is that?" He snarled as he threw himself into a chair. He tore at his collar.

She was silent. He clawed at his collar again, which now had a stain of perspiration around its edge. His sheathed fingers couldn't find the hook so Krennic began to tear at the garment.

Mon rushed and knelt in front of him and grabbed his wrist. She put her drink down and with her free hand, she slid a finger inside of the seam and unlatched the top hook of his tunic. She then did the same with the second and third hooks and kept her hand inside, against his bare shoulder. Krennic attempted a breath in response to her touch, but it was ragged and shallow.

"Breathe." She said.

"Yes, I've _been_." Krennic snapped.

"Look at me." She said, inclining her head so that their eyes met, "all right. Focus on my eyes and breathe."

Krennic complied and he pierced her green eyes with his stare. Her hand did not move from his shoulder.

"You need a day off, Commander."

He didn't appreciate her attempt at comedy and glowered. She didn't understand: being _away_ from his work was the problem.

"It's going to kill you." She finished with a more serious tone. Mon still hadn't moved her hand.

Her prolonged touch surprised him but only because he found himself welcoming it.

"You must _breathe_." She commanded.

"You don't understand," his voice trembled, "If we lose these kyber reserves the whole projected will be thwarted. I have the opportunity to do something so spectacular that the entire galaxy will quake in response. The kybers are key to the whole thing and the Jedi are too selfish and nearsighted to allow anyone to use them. Too much mysticism clouds the mind. And, I suppose, we are to suffer for it."

Her fingertip felt his pulse quicken in the crook of his neck.

"Breathe." She ordered again, "You need to breathe, Orson."

He slammed his fist on the table once. She'd seen too much. And her lack of understanding made it worse. He studied the hem of her gown and considered telling her the truth. If she knew everything, maybe she would prove to be a better asset than she already had been.

As he gazed at the delicate stitching at the bottom of her dress, Krennic laid out their situation thus far:

Amedda had wanted her gone a long time ago—ever since she had become one of the most outspoken senators against the Emergency Powers Act. The Vice Chancellor had thought it would be a good test of Krennic's loyalty and patience as he transitioned to a higher position in Special Weapons. The wars had made the project's process slow-going as they waited for confirmed intelligence on the Separatist designs for the superweapon. Amedda thought it would be wise to keep Krennic busy.

Krennic couldn't believe his eerie good luck when Mon had mentioned the discovery of kybers on her planet—he couldn't have planned it better himself. The timing was perfect: he'd front it as a mining project on Chandrila (a stable, loyalist planet), which would keep suspicious senators off his track and keep the crystals safe for testing. All this would happen while he stepped into the good graces of a powerful (and strikingly beautiful) senator. It was the perfect cover.

The Vice Chancellor had been certain that the last thing Krennic would want to do was to help silence an outspoken senator and that was the exact reason why he'd tasked the rising Lieutenant Commander to do it. He had been surprised when Krennic had so enthusiastically agreed. What the Vice Chancellor didn't know was that Krennic had trained himself to see opportunity everywhere and the high-profile Senator Mon Mothma was certainly no exception.

So Krennic was happy to play the Vice Chancellor's game: it would keep Amedda aware of his value and loyalty, store up resources for the project, and seemingly keep Mothma appeased until he would blindside her with "neutralization." She would never see it coming, and that was evident already in the scene at the inquiry.

Krennic knew her usefulness had now run out, now that Kenobi had been made aware of what had been occurring on Chandrila.

Things had been going so well.

And now, it seemed, everything was dashed. Krennic had played the political game exceedingly well. He'd used his keen intuition to figure out solutions to his problems and worked with men who he despised—all the while getting closer to making his dream a reality.

What Amedda couldn't tell him that night was that all Krennic needed to do was to be patient for a few more months. But, of course, Palpatine's long game was anything but evident at that point. And the Chancellor was secure enough to let the project hover in a holding pattern until the time was right. Besides, with the unwitting help of Senator Mothma, the Chancellor now had access to detailed documents about the Chandrilan crystal mines. Her role definitely helped the project as a whole.

The guilt that had plagued Krennic on the night he had abruptly left Mon's apartment suddenly ambushed him again as she sat patiently before him, her hand still clasped to his shoulder, willing him to breathe evenly. Her thumb had begun to vacillate across a small portion of his skin in what he could only translate as a conveyance of comfort.

With all of his assessments, his calculations, and his ciphering, he didn't take into account what her reaction would be—or his.

He focused on her hem, but he could feel her studying him. She was obviously waiting for him to speak, to say something, to signal that he was not, in fact, having a heart attack.

"I'm fine."

She smirked, "You most certainly are _not_."

Her thumb moved a little faster on the emphasized word. Krennic was about to shift his shoulder as a sign for her to remove her hand, but she did so before he could. Instead, she brought her fingertips to his hairline above his forehead and traced a line down to his temple.

"Here," she said as she handed him her drink and the napkin, "You can't go back to the dinner looking like that."

Krennic resigned himself to her witnessing his enormous display of weakness. Much better it had been Mon who had walked in than Amedda or Kenobi or another senator like Organa, who had become suspicious of him ever since the inquiry.

He swept the sweat from his brow, finished her drink, and exhaled forcefully. The damage had been done. It was time to salvage whatever viable things he could, find a silver lining as it were, and move on.

Krennic rebuttoned his tunic and straightened his belt as he tried to think of some positive thing to come out of this debacle but could only fix his eyes on Mon pivoting back onto her heels in preparation to stand.

He offered her his hand, ungloved. She paused for a moment before accepting it. Her hand felt small in his. Krennic studied the gentle curve of her fingers and noticed her grip was strong and steady. How in the world had he gotten to the level of kissing her? He seemed so far from it at that moment.

"Ready to return?" Mon threw the question over her shoulder as she went toward the door. He nodded and went back to the dinner with her. When they got to their table, they realized that the meal had already been served and the speakers were to begin. Krennic and Mon found chairs opposite each other. When she got settled, Mon immediately found Padme in her ear:

"I saw the Vice Chancellor and Master Kenobi return several minutes ago," she hissed, "And Master Kenobi left—Anakin, too…But you took your time coming out with the Commander…"

"Padme, please," Mon whispered, "Don't even go there…"

"It's all right," Padme smiled and shook her head, "You don't have to explain yourself."

"No, no," Mon said, "Believe me—trust me—it's not like that… But, could you put a good word in for me with Master Kenobi?"

Padme furrowed her brow, confused. "Um. All right."

The first speaker began a speech on the atmospheric issues of Ryloth's moon.

"The meeting just now—he probably thinks I'm an incompetent fool."

"Why would you want _me_ to do it?"

"Because…" Mon paused, "you know… you're… _you know_ …"

Padme searched her friend's face before exploding into peals of laughter.

"You thought…?" She couldn't finish the question because she was giggling. A few people at another table shushed them.

"What—no?" Mon said, "But your demeanor changes around him—"

"It's not because—" Padme stopped and started again, "it's not because of him."

* * *

Thanks for reading and if you can, leave a review!


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 8

A/N: Thank you so much for the outpouring of feedback and support! I appreciate you all so very much. Always good to have a positive online experience, don't you think? A little side note: I love listening to music as a way to spark inspiration and combat writer's blocks. Coldplay's "Fix You" is almost a theme song for this story. I also find Imagine Dragons "Demons," Guster's "Demons," Lady Gaga's "Speechless" and NIN's "Something I Can Never Have" to be pretty useful, too. They're a little heavy handed when it comes to the connections being made, but I guess I'm just a melodramatic person. (You probably already figured that out.)

* * *

With her thoughts racing, Mon left the Environmental Fund Dinner and got in the airtaxi queue. It was at least twenty minutes long. She sighed. From across the platform, she saw Krennic, leaning against a column, still chattering into his comlink. She watched through the crowd as he disconnected the call and let his back slide down the column. He squatted, cradling his head in his hands.

Mon watched him for a few minutes and he didn't move. It took a full five minutes to wrestle with her conscience before coming to a decision. With resigned defeat, she left her spot and went over to him, bending down before him. For the second time that evening, she knew that the choice she was making could only lead to trouble.

"Come on," she said, "I'm taking you home."

"You don't—"

"Don't speak," she grasped his arm and pulled him to his feet, "When you speak, you ruin things."

She tried to pull him back toward the taxis. "No," he said, leading her around the building to the valet platform.

He produced a little metal ticket from his pocket and handed it to the attendant.

"Promotions have perks," he huffed in an exhausted voice, "Though I'd imagine this will be taken away from me after tonight."

A sleek gunmetal grey airspeeder slid soundlessly onto the platform. It was the newest model. She hopped in and observed him as he came around the front of the vehicle to get in the driver's side. His face was waxy from perspiration and he'd undone his top button again. It was evident he was still reeling from the setback that night. A steady feeling of alarm that had been planted in her that night started to grow rapidly.

With a smooth, low purr, the speeder was in flight. They glided through the city without exchanging any words. He flipped the control to autopilot to send out a few frenetic text messages, but still said nothing to her. She wished she could grab the device from him and toss it to the depths below. She also knew that would be the worst idea ever.

Upon entry, Mon surveyed Krennic's apartment. She knew it was expensive because of the address and the view. The furnishings themselves were simple but high end. To her left was a spartan kitchen that looked too pristine—as if it had never been used. She couldn't say it was consciously "decorated," but the living room was adorned only in monochromatic colors and minimalist lines.

"Did you just move in?"

"I've been here for three years." He said distractedly as he grabbed a holotablet from his coffee table.

"I see." Mon said.

She sat on the couch and watched him pace as he reviewed something on the screen before him. He didn't even notice when she went into the kitchen, found a bottle of wine and glasses, and returned with two healthy pours.

"Do you want food?" She asked.

"No." He said absently, still reading.

"Do you, in fact, eat?"

"Hm? Yes."

Mon got up and presented Orson with a glass of wine. He accepted and took a sip as he continued to read. She took her place again on the couch and waited. A few minutes passed before he threw the device onto his desk by the window, causing a water glass to shatter. Mon wondered why she'd come in, despite the tender tugging she felt in her chest that made her gravitate toward him.

Krennic sat down on the couch next to her and rubbed his hand across his face, fatigued.

"Are you familiar with the concept of relaxation?" She asked.

"It's of no use to me."

"I think you are gravely mistaken." She said as she inched toward him.

Mon reached out, slid her fingers into his hair and ran them down to his neck. Krennic was startled by the contact, but all frantic thoughts were vaporized from his mind. He uttered a low growl and closed his eyes in response to the touch and turned to her. Her wine glass toppled onto her white gown, leaving a scarlet splotch down the bodice. She cried out but Krennic paid no heed; he took her onto his lap and into a tight embrace. The glass ended up on the floor.

She imagined she'd have to defend her honor in that moment but when she gazed at his eyes, there was something else coming forth from them. There was definite desire there, but it was overwhelmed by something that took her a few seconds to place.

Desperation.

His hands slowly spread up and down her arms and then around her waist—back and forth—as if searching for something. He took her face into his hands, his blue eyes tired but crackling.

"Promise me something now." He commanded, the sweat creeping forth once more from his hairline.

"I cannot." She said balefully.

"Promise me."

She waited.

"Never." He said as he pressed his forehead to hers and closed his eyes, "Never leave me."

Thinking of Castor, she knew that what he had requested was impossible. She pulled him away from her so that she could look him in the eye.

"I'll always be with you."

It was somehow enough for him and he pulled her close and put his head against her chest.

"Stay tonight." He said as the moisture from his hair made contact with the swell of her breasts.

She inwardly winced at his words and slid off of his lap and back onto the couch. Mon observed him for a silent moment as she weighed what he'd requested. He seemed emotionally beaten and she surely was not going to be an ego boost that night.

"I can't."

He opened his mouth to backtrack but found no voice.

"Orson," she continued much to his mortification, "You're on a precipice."

"Excuse me?"

"Until you make a choice," she said, "I can't be a part of your deceit."

"My _deceit_?" He stood, amazed.

"You don't have to use it to get what you want," she said, "I can't do this until you stop."

A well of sudden anger arose in him at the ultimatum, but he grasped at a sudden eerie calm. He proceeded, his voice quiet. He'd prop himself up with it until she was out the door.

"I don't think of it as deceit," He said, "I see it as different facets of the truth. You can pick and choose which one you want."

"And what do you want?"

He chose a facet of truth: "You."

Mon was unamused at the contrite response and waited for him to clarify. When he didn't, her heart leapt in her chest. Even so, she was still resolved in her decision, and she went to the door.

"Good night, Orson. Please get some rest." She said, her stained gown rustling as she slipped into the hallway.

Mon had never been so taken by another person in her life—not even Castor. Her former fiancé had always been supportive and warm and simple. When he was present, he was dedicated and affectionate. He would be patiently waiting with a back rub when she returned home from work in the middle of the night. He never asked more than what she was willing to give—and she did the same for him. When he'd gone off to war, Mon was certain that same loyalty he had shown in their relationship had been transferred to his combat skills.

But when he would be away she didn't find her thoughts wandering to him—so busy she was at the Senate, trying to keep the balance of power in check. Having Castor come in and out of her life had fit her schedule nicely. It was on that journey home from Orson Krennic's sparse apartment that she'd realized for all of his goodness and loyalty she'd never gotten to know Castor. Maybe that had been fitting, too.

For all the ways Castor had been convenient, Krennic had been abrasively inconvenient. They agreed on very little policy, which was aggravating to no end for her. She also found him memorizing her quirks and mannerisms as they spoke, as if to file them away for further scrutiny at a later time. When she felt her cheeks blush, he always betrayed himself with a look of victory.

Upon cumulative review of their interactions, Mon noted his long silences and curated words as retroactive signs that he'd constantly been paying close, obsessive attention to everything she had said and done. Every move, it seemed, had been carefully plotted and planned. And the silences had been signs of impromptu choices being made on the spot.

Whatever the nature of their relationship had been, it was already more dynamic and active than hers with Castor. Mon felt a deep sense of shame, not only for her dead fiancé, but for being taken by such a deceptive man.

But she also hadn't known anyone who had put that much effort into physically saving her life—not once, but twice. Those acts were something that overwhelmed her to the point of near madness.

She couldn't begin to guess what his endgame was, as it was becoming increasingly clear that he possessed one. The deep sinking sensation returned to her chest as she convinced herself that whatever it was, she could handle it.

Instead of focusing on his betrayals, she clung to those moments of rescue, those tender wisps of comfort he proffered in times of utter chaos. It now seemed those had been paradoxes—against everything else he was fighting for.

And then her mind settled on that night's events: his insubordination toward Amedda (whether the Vice Chancellor was his supervisor or not), his breakdown in the meeting room, his pallid expressions, his wild eyes… his desperation at the thought of her leaving.

If she couldn't figure out what they shared between them, how was she to know if it could be salvaged?

The next morning, Mon waited at the steps of the Jedi Temple. She watched from a distance as the Jedi Masters shuffled out of their early morning meeting, no doubt about the recent discovery of Chandrilan kybers. Obi-Wan was among the last to exit.

"Master Kenobi!" She called to him.

He saw her and waited as she approached. From behind him, she caught the glare of Anakin, whose attention not only conveyed that she did not belong there but that she should leave immediately. Without looking back at his protégé, Obi-Wan raised a calming hand to Anakin and the younger Jedi said nothing.

"Senator Mothma," Obi-Wan said, "I have been waiting for you."

"You—you have?"

"What can I do for you?"

"Please accept my apology," she said frantically, "about the kyber crystals. I had no idea about their connection with the Jedi. Had I known, I would've alerted you immediately. I—"

"It's all right, Senator," Obi-Wan placed his hand on her shoulder and she calmed down, "I know _you_ were not to blame for that. You were used as a pawn in what seems to be a plan helmed by the Chancellor himself."

"The _Chancellor?_ "

Kenobi didn't elaborate, "In fact, Senator, I need your help. As I said, I've been waiting for you."

His words chilled her. "Why?"

A cool breeze blew through the open air temple, coursed around the enormous pillars and then brushed across Mon's face.

The Jedi Master produced something from his pocket. He took her hand and placed a small device in her palm.

"What's this?" She asked as she studied it.

"It's an old comlink from twenty standard years ago," Obi-Wan explained, "I'd like you to have it. Keep it close to you."

"Master Kenobi," she smiled politely, "I don't think I quite understand."

"I feel…" He started and then paused to look at her.

Mon's eyes were wide and she managed a nervous gulp.

"You are destined to lead," he said in a low, steady voice, "There is a power in you."

"Thank you…" she breathed, even more confused, "but… the comlink?"

"I'll keep another like it," he explained, "If anything happens…anything… this is a direct, untappable line between us."

"What?" Mon's confusion moved toward bewilderment.

"My distrust of politicians is famous—"

"—Hence my palpable confusion—"

"—but I trust you," he finished.

"How could you trust me after last night?"

"The inquiry." He said, "You displayed a fervent passion for the truth and you were unafraid. Mon, those qualities are hard to find in anyone these days."

"I thank you for taking notice," she heaved a relieved sigh, "I'm glad someone did."

Even so, she moved to give the comlink back to him.

"But maybe Bail might be more suited—"

"No," he said firmly, "you."


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

A/N: Thank you so, so much for the reviews, love, encouragement, and feedback! As always, I appreciate it!

* * *

In the days since the Chandrilan mine had been turned over to the Jedi, Mon threw herself back into her work. There were a few comlink messages here and there from Krennic—silly questions, she noticed, like _How are you_ and _How has your morning been so far_. The questions were small talk, which she hated, but she knew what was meant, which was why she didn't respond.

It was five days since the night of the Environmental Fund dinner when a package arrived. Gema came into her office, her arms straining at the size of the box.

"Ma'am," she said, "this has arrived for you."

Her assistant set the box down on Mon's desk.

"Thank you, Gema," she said as she studied the thing, "you may go."

Mon gazed at the large bow and saw a small note wedged inside of it. She plucked it from its spot and read:

 _To replace the one I ruined. See you at the Ball._

Mon very carefully set the note on the desktop and took a moment to gaze at the package once more before opening it. She very deliberately removed the lid and pushed aside the wrapping to reveal a blush colored gown. Mon pulled it from the box and held it out before her. The skirt was sheathed in a long, thin fringe. The bodice was made of translucent shraa silk cut into the shape of flowers—flowers, Mon recognized, that only grew on Chandrila. Another broad row of thin fringe flowed from the shoulders.

He had inexplicably good taste.

She gingerly placed it back into the box and sat down. There was so much work to do that day—she was so far behind—but she just stared at the dress. She already knew that she would wear it that evening, even though her conscience told her not to. She marveled at his power to coerce her into doing reckless things—however maddening it was, at least it took her mind off of her work for once.

There was a knock at the door. Gema poked her head in and reminded Mon of the Loyalist Committee meeting.

"Yes," Mon ran her hand over her face and crossed to the couch, "show everyone in."

The committee processed in solemnly.

"We have much to discuss," Bail pointed out. "Shall we begin?"

The group took their seats and heaved a collective deep breath.

"We have a responsibility," Padme said, "to bring our concerns to the Chancellor. He's pushed his powers too far."

"I agree," Mon nodded, stealing a side-long glance in Jar Jar Binks' direction, "but he has been elusive; I haven't seen him in weeks."

"I know someone who is close to him," Padme said, "perhaps I can arrange something."

"Good," Bail nodded, "our constituents are too restless. If our planets fall to the Separatist cause, we will lose all control."

"And we must be prepared for anything," Mon pointed out, "We must have contingencies put into place."

"What do you mean?" Senator Papanoida asked, "Contingencies for what?"

The other senators also looked alarmed.

"With whatever the Chancellor's response will be." Mon concluded, "Times are uncertain. We cannot trust anyone."

"I think we should open this up to the Jedi," Padme said.

"No." Mon said immediately.

"Why not?"

"Because we don't know the Jedi's position on this," she said, "it's better to keep it a political issue and not bring them into it."

Padme seemed less than satisfied with the explanation and shot a look at Mon.

"We must keep this between us—and only us," Mon continued, "It's too unstable to expand yet."

"Senator!" Breemu exclaimed, "You sound as if the galaxy were to implode tomorrow!"

"If the Republic's Constitution is dismantled further," Bail said, "The galaxy as we know it _will be_ destroyed. Senator Mothma is right."

After the meeting drew to a close, Padme lingered.

"You look pale," Mon said tenderly.

"I—" she started but stopped herself.

"What?"

Padme stared off, avoiding Mon's gaze.

"I'm just tired," she said as she rose slowly from the couch. Mon watched her head for the door but then trailed after her. She grabbed her hand.

"Please, Padme," she whispered, "What is it?"

Padme turned to Mon with sudden tears in her eyes. She shook her head and her mouth contorted as it fought against a sob.

"I'm so afraid, Mon," she whispered through trembling lips.

Before Mon could respond, Padme slipped away and left her alone. Mon stood there for several moments, frozen in shock by the scene she'd just witnessed. Padme was always so even, so calm; she embodied grace and poise. To see her stricken with such fear unsettled Mon to no end.

Things had begun to fall apart.

The sudden rapping on the door made her heart leap uncomfortably into her throat. Gema's head appeared.

"You have a lunch meeting in fifteen minutes, Senator."

"Yes, thank you, Gema."

"And Commander Krennic is here."

Mon collapsed onto the couch and put her head to her knees for a moment before recovering.

"Send him in." She smoothed her robes.

Krennic came in and stood stiffly by the door, his gloved hands clasped in front of him.

"Good morning, Commander," Mon leaned against the couch's armrest.

"Good morning, Senator." He responded haltingly as he immediately regretted coming in person—but the comlink messages weren't being returned.

"How are you feeling?" Mon asked.

"Well." Krennic's voice was quiet.

"I'm sorry I haven't responded to your messages," she said after a moment, "I've been very busy."

"Er, yes," Krennic made a vague gesture back toward the hall, "meetings all day then?"

She nodded.

"Nothing treasonous, I hope?" The corner of his lip lifted slightly.

"No."

"I see you received my gift." He indicated the box on the desk.

"Yes, thank you, you didn't have to do that."

"I did." He advanced toward her.

She got up from the couch and put her hand out to stop him. Krennic ignored her and grasped her hand. He took her into his arms and placed a firm kiss on her mouth. Mon moved to pull away, but as the kiss deepened, she relented. She found herself sliding her hands up his shoulders and clasping them to the back of his neck. He pressed his body against her and she immediately felt his urgency.

"I have ten minutes before I have to get to a meeting—"

"You're so diligent, Senator," he said between kisses, "Always mindful of taxpayer funds."

"I have to finish reading these declarations," she persisted.

"That's what aides are for," Krennic didn't let up, "makes them feel useful."

"And what of your work—?"

"Ahead of schedule," he lied, "You should try it sometime."

Krennic probed his tongue further into her mouth and she involuntarily but contentedly hummed in response. His lips made a trail across her jaw and then down her neck where they stayed in the hollow of her collarbone. She tilted her head back; the stress from the day seemed to be melting from her mind and her body relaxed. She didn't hear the small knock at the door.

"Senator you must—SORRY! I'm so—sorry—" Gema threw her holotablet against her face to hide her dropped jaw.

Mon and Orson flew away from each other with such a speed, it was as if they were poorly positioned magnets.

The aide scurried out the door, but as she did, she called, "Your lunch meeting!"

Krennic had offered to pick her up and escort her to the Ball, but Mon assured him that she _did_ have to work late and that she would meet him there.

* * *

The Ball was held annually at the Grand Rotunda in Coruscant's Central District. The large space had a sweeping staircase at its south end, and a wall of windows at its north end. There was an octet of musicians by the stairs playing beautiful music which provided a peculiar foil for the lines of soldiers around the perimeter of the room. On clear nights, like that particular night, the windows were the perfect view of the Coruscanti night sky.

Krennic arrived at the Ball a little earlier than he would have liked, but it was only to ensure that he could see her come in. He found glancing at the entrance every few minutes allowed him a certain sense of control. His preparations paid off; Mon appeared at the top of the grand staircase about a half an hour after he had arrived.

As she descended, Mon found him in the crowd and gave him a smile. She glided over to him and Krennic felt victorious; she'd worn the gown he'd given her. The long fringe undulated against her hips as she moved. Instead of her usual low, wide bun at the base of her neck, her red hair cascaded in waves at her shoulders.

His slipped his hand around her waist in greeting and laid his lips against her ear.

"You look gorgeous." He whispered.

Mon pulled back and blushed with a smile. "You cut a fine figure yourself."

Throughout the entire night, they remained inseparable. After dinner had been served, Mon whispered in his ear, her gentle breath sending a shiver through him.

"Care to dance?" She asked.

Krennic dabbed a napkin at his mouth as a certain amount of exhilaration coursed through his veins. He took her hand and led her to the dance floor where countless other couples were already swirling around the room.

They joined in and, as they danced, Mon could not hide her surprise.

"I must say, Commander," she smiled, "you are a fabulous dancer."

"Don't look so shocked, Senator."

"I had hours of boring dance lessons growing up," Mon said, "This was drilled into me at an early age, being the governor's daughter."

"I figured early on," he explained, turning her out and then back in again, "that knowing how to dance would be extremely beneficial to my career. I'm sure your father thought the same, being a politician."

"My _mother_ was the governor."

Krennic inclined his head, "of course."

They continued to dance for the rest of the evening. As always, the question of going home hung in the air between Orson and Mon at the end of the event. They decided to go back to his apartment.

"Your view is spectacular," she said as she gazed out his near-panoramic window, "It's beautiful…"

He came up behind her and whispered: "Indeed."

Mon laughed and turned back to him as she slipped her arm around his neck. Krennic cradled her face in his hand and brought his lips to hers. She pressed herself against him, which gave him a direct signal and so, without their lips separating, he began to move her toward his bedroom in a movement not unlike a dance. Mon pulled away suddenly when they were just at the corner of the bed.

"What—?" Judging from her rosy cheeks and the timbre of her voice, things had been going well for him.

She reached into her pocket—he didn't even know the gown _had_ pockets—and pulled out a small old comlink _._ She turned away and sat at the edge of the bed. He watched her as she checked the message. Her eyes widened.

"What is it?" He asked, the mood and his hopes being dashed.

"The Chancellor…"

His comlink buzzed then as well. Krennic took a look and read:

 _Alert! Supreme Chancellor Palpatine has been kidnapped by Separatist forces! We've dispatched two Jedi to bring him to safety. For security reasons, we are asking all senators and high-ranking government officials to shelter in place. Please keep the Chancellor in your thoughts as he goes through this horrific ordeal. We will update you when we have more news._

Mon threw herself back onto the bed and stared at the ceiling. She put the back of her hand against her brow as she thought. Krennic lay next to her, his head propped by his arm. He watched her with a certain amount of disappointment that slowly morphed into concern.

The message Obi-Wan Kenobi had just sent her echoed through her mind. She wasn't even concerned with the fact that Krennic was now wondering why she'd gotten the mass message a few moments before he did. She thought of Padme and the tears that hadn't yet fallen from her eyes. Mon felt ill but looked at her old comlink again, turning a little so that Krennic couldn't see the last few words from Kenobi:

 _The kidnapping is a ruse. Palpatine is lying._

The creeping feeling of dread took hold of her and did not let go. She felt dizzy with this new knowledge and soon another realization hit her: perhaps the wars were a ruse as well. Mon continued to stare above her as she put the pieces together. The end result was terrifying.

"Are you all right?" Krennic asked her.

"No." She said, and realizing that she didn't fully trust him to tell him her thoughts, she repeated the word: "No."

"Well, you're here for the night…" He said, "We've the order to shelter in place…"

"Yes," she said, "I—"

Her pocket started to buzz. It was her own comlink. She pulled it out. Padme.

"Excuse me." She said and sat up, her back to him, "Hello?"

As Mon spoke, Krennic noticed the other comlink, an older one, still on the bed. Mon had turned away so he was free to study it. He supposed it wasn't unusual for a senator to have two devices and he imagined that several did. But to have one so obsolete struck him as odd.

She clicked the device off at the end of her call.

"All right," she said, "I hate to ask—do you have something I could sleep in?"

 _Sleep_. She said _sleep_. His shoulders sagged a little. "Of course."

Krennic only had uniforms. He wore no other clothing; even when he was not working he thought everyone should know his purpose and rank. But he did have undershirts. He went to the wardrobe across from the bed and pulled one out.

"Here," he said.

"Thank you," she replied and waited a moment.

He took the cue and left the room. A few minutes later she called him back in, and there she was—wearing his undershirt in his bed. Maybe this night wasn't so bad after all. She was sending messages on her _newer_ comlink and so he slipped into the bathroom and changed. He emerged again and slipped under the covers, next to her. She sighed, sent her last message to Bail, and laid the device on the nightstand.

Mon eased down onto the pillow as Krennic switched off the light. He slid down beside her and she lifted his arm so that she could rest against his chest. He clasped her close to him and could feel her sigh softly. In spite of many feelings she couldn't ignore, she felt safe with him, in his arms on that night and knew in that moment that he'd never hurt her, regardless of his many shortcomings. She reached up and placed a kiss on his lips before settling into his embrace and falling asleep.

Krennic usually would lie in bed each night, his mind racing through to-do lists as he waited for his body to give up and go to sleep. On this particular night, with Mon pressed against him—her hair splayed across his shoulder, her leg against his, her breath puffing evenly against his chest—he didn't remember trying to fall asleep. He didn't toss and turn and didn't awaken with a start thinking about elusive kyber crystals at three a.m. He slumbered the entire night and was only roused by the early morning sunlight the next day.

It hadn't been a dream; she was still there, right next to him, her head still on his chest. He felt her pulse as his fingers brushed her neck, which meant she was also definitely not a hallucination. He could tell by her breathing that she was still fast asleep. Krennic shifted his arm beneath her and found it to be completely numb. He tried extracting it, but his movement stirred her and she moved closer, making the rescue impossible. He decided it wasn't the worst thing to happen to his arm and gave up. His blood could circulate at another time. Resigned, he buried his nose into her hair.

When she shifted awake a few short minutes later, Krennic slammed his eyes closed. He felt Mon sit up and pause for a moment—was she studying him?—and then get out of bed. He allowed one eye open and watched as she dressed silently. She moved back toward the bed and he did his best impression of how he thought a sleeping person might look.

Mon sat down next to him gently as fear and uncertainty rattled her. She gazed at him silently as he slept.

It would be safe—it would be her secret, to keep close to her. Some pieces of information she didn't trust to tell him—but this? She knew it was illogical madness, but she had to do it. In these uncertain times, there was this one thing that she could be certain of.

She leaned down and her lips brushed his ear: "I love you."

However true the words were, she regretted saying them. Mon then rose and left the apartment. As the door slid closed behind her, Krennic's eyes burst open.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Or, "The Chapter in Which We are Reminded Why Krennic Can't Have Nice Things"

* * *

Krennic lay in bed, burying his nose into the pillow next to him to absorb her scent. He spied the discarded undershirt she'd worn on the night table and also brought it to his face. His alarm went off, but he disregarded it as her words continued to echo in his head. They were real, but not quite believable yet.

He dressed quickly and went to the Senate for a morning meeting with Amedda and other members of the Special Weapons Group. The meeting was to discuss the use of synthetic kybers in regard to the superweapon project. Better than nothing, he figured. He endured the barbs Amedda lobbed at him about his competence during the meeting—he knew that his very presence there meant he was still in the game. He'd made too many valuable strides and social connections for them to drop him completely.

"Vice Chancellor," he purred, "synthetic kybers are our only option at this moment."

"Obviously." Returned Amedda flatly.

"But," Krennic dug into his pocket and pulled out three small crystals, "I've managed to salvage a few authentic ones for testing."

"I won't be a part of—"

"No, no," Krennic said, "you misunderstand me. These in my hand were acquired legally."

"Explain."

Krennic smiled without showing his teeth, "Senator Mothma signed off on this herself."

Amedda raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

"I got her to sign away a small amount for my personal possession," Krennic continued, "Poor girl, she didn't even look at what she was signing—she was quite upset that day about the inquiry—so these are now mine. And they will go directly into testing at the hands of Galen Erso."

"So your project is revived?"

"It was never dead!" Krennic was quick to correct him, "The superlaser development is progressing nicely—"

"—Let's hope it continues as such." Amedda said, "And your... other duties?"

"Progressing as well, Vice Chancellor." Krennic reddened.

"Lovely."

* * *

As their meeting was drawing to a close, a huge explosion echoed through the atmosphere. Everyone in the room raced to the window. From his vantage point, Krennic saw a starship come barreling in from the sky and crash-land onto the senate airspeeder platform.

Krennic saw two formations of soldiers and a squad of senate guards run out to the downed ship. From the thin grey smoke emerged Obi-Wan Kenobi, Anakin Skywalker and the Supreme Chancellor. A few of Krennic's colleagues commented about the speed with which the Jedi had rescued their dear leader.

Krennic rolled his eyes.

As he exited the senate to get back to the Center for Military Operations for a meeting with the crystallographers, Krennic noticed a small crowd forming at the entrance plaza to the building. He immediately spotted Mon's white robes and hung back by the pillars to watch.

The Jedi and the Chancellor tiredly trudged up to the crowd of senators. There was a solemn greeting amongst the group and they ushered the Chancellor inside. Krennic watched as Mon nodded to the Chancellor as he passed and then filed into the group behind him. He emerged from his semi-hiding place and advanced across the plaza to approach her. But he was not the only one with the urge to speak with her: Krennic froze as he saw Obi-Wan appear from behind a pillar and grasp her elbow. She turned with a start and Krennic saw a smile form on her lips as she looked at him.

True, she'd been in his bed the night before. It was also true that she'd uttered words he'd never in his life heard anyone say to him. But it wasn't enough for Krennic. Her actions screamed volumes—or at least his perception of them. However repulsed he was by their closeness, he couldn't look away. He strained to hear their conversation, but was out of earshot.

"I got your message," Mon said to Obi-Wan, "How did you know?"

"I've known for a while," he said, "and it's been a long time coming. I should've seen the signs earlier."

"How do we proceed?"

"Keep things going on your end," Obi-Wan instructed, "I'll let you know. Everything is fluid right now. Count Dooku is dead."

"What?" Mon cried, "What does that mean for the Wars?"

Obi-Wan shook his head slightly. Mon remembered her thoughts from the night before: Count Dooku's demise meant very little in the light of her new knowledge.

"I think now," he said, "that the most logical step is to push for the Chancellor's resignation. The wars are winding down and we need a new election to wipe everything clean."

"I agree."

"But your meetings with the Loyalist Committee—you're not mentioning the Jedi, are you? I don't want it to seem like a conspiracy between your group and the Jedi against the Chancellor. That's a dynamic we can't entertain right now."

"No, not at all," Mon said, "I'm keeping it purely political."

"Good." He said with a deep breath.

Mon nodded, then indicated the wreck. "Quite a landing there, Master Kenobi."

Obi-Wan turned back and surveyed the smoldering, twisted ship on the platform, "I hate flying."

"Glad you're safe then," Mon patted his arm, "Please stay in touch."

"Will do—and the same goes for you." He nodded to her and then headed off to the Jedi Temple.

Krennic's lip curled in horror at the scene. She'd _touched_ him. He'd _smiled_ at what she said. He whirled back behind the pillar and fought off a wave of jealousy-induced nausea. A red filter started to descend upon his vision when he felt a familiar touch.

"Orson," Mon said, "I didn't know you were scheduled to be at the senate this morning."

"Meeting with the Vice Chancellor," he said quickly, "I see you've made a new friend."

"A new fr—" Mon looked thoroughly confused, "Do you mean Master Kenobi?"

With his chin tilted downward, he eyed her sulkily.

"We've been acquaintances for as long as I've been in the senate!"

"And how long has that been?"

"Seven—almost eight years." She said, "And I've known who he was since I was young; the Jedi Council used Chandrila as its base for many years."

His neck jutted forward and his lip threatened to fall into a pout—but he held himself together; they had known each other for a long time. Perhaps they had a history. Perhaps her touch meant more than just a friendly pat. Was she secretly messaging him last night? What was she saying? Was she criticizing Krennic? What would she be criticizing him about? His kyber crystal debacle? His long litany of deceptions? His lackluster kissing technique?

His mind spun out of control.

"Are you all right, Orson?"

"Never been better."

She smiled uncertainly. "Well, I've got to get into work. I got here late today...and now that the Chancellor is back safely, there is much to do."

"Indeed." Krennic grumbled. Mon stretched up on her tiptoes and placed a small kiss on his lips. He leaned into her, ready to push her against the pillar, but she pulled away and, with an impish smile, scurried off to work.

* * *

Mon sat at her desk reviewing documents and found herself feeling a sense of temporary but strong contentment.

Then her comlink buzzed:

 _Senate to convene immediately in the chambers._

She huffed a tired sigh, threw on her mantle, and raced down the hall to take her place at her pod. The Senate was not currently called to session and Mon observed that the room was only half full. Perhaps this was how the Chancellor wanted it. She gave a quick nod to both Bail and Padme across the way.

The Chancellor took the middle podium.

"I thank you all for coming on such short notice," he said with a grave countenance, "I thank you all as well for all of your support during my ordeal. Fortunately, I can report that both General Grievous and Count Dooku have been vanquished and are no longer a threat. We can breathe a little easier with their demises, but we must still be aware. And that is why I am amending the Emergency Security and Enforcement Act. This will give my office widespread control over the Republic Armed Forces-all in the name of security."

There was varied applause from all around the chamber. Mon remained still and silent. Padme and Bail, along with several others, did the same. A sick feeling overcame Mon Mothma as she sat in the senate chamber and realized that 25,000 years of the Galactic Republic were coming dangerously close to an end. She began to tremble with an unhealthy anger as she grappled with how useless her current job—a job she loved with all of her heart—had become. What, now, was the actual point of the senate as a governing body? If the Chancellor continued to pass and amend laws, there was no point at all. Many things were uncertain, but she and those allies around her at least had to try to restore balance to the Republic.

When the session was adjourned, Mon meandered slowly back to her office. She took in the winding hallways, the vast windows, the industrial smell that each office always held. Mon didn't consciously know that with the sunset of the Republic also came the end of her time on this planet, but she found herself saying good bye to the building itself.

* * *

The next day, Bail Organa went to the senate to speak with Vice Chancellor Amedda about the possibility of having an inquiry about the events of Grievous' and Dooku's deaths. Having had a bit of a day himself, he didn't make it to the Vice Chancellor's offices until well after the close of the business day. He knew that Amedda usually kept later hours so Bail was confident that he would be willing to speak with him. Upon approaching his empty office, he heard a hushed conversation behind his private office door. The senator knew that eavesdropping was not the most admirable thing to do, but these were uncertain times. Any and all bits of information were of use. He crept closer to the door and listened in on the conversation already much in progress.

"...And so the Chancellor wants to know," Amedda said, "how are things progressing in regard to the Chandrilan question?"

"Progressing well, as I said in our earlier meeting, Vice Chancellor," Krennic replied. "Though she has proven to be useful—more useful than I ever expected. Perhaps she would continue to be."

"That may be possible," Amedda admitted, "Though she has become a problem. And I know that in light of yesterday's legislative events, she will lead the opposition in a fierce manner—and there are rumblings that she is already making plans. She must be under control if we are to proceed."

"Understood." Krennic said.

"Remember how many strings I pulled for this," Amedda's voice darkened, "the whole Castor Hentri affair was not easy to pull off."

"Yes, Vice Chancellor."

Bail listened in shocked silence. He then heard Krennic stand and move toward the door. Bail dashed out of the office and took cover around the corner of the hall. Still, he listened.

"Hentri was actually a good soldier," Amedda whispered to Krennic at his door way, "I sanctioned his death at your proposal and it was a sacrifice. Don't make me regret it."

Bail could not hear Krennic's response, but he immediately had to make himself scarce. With this uncovered knowledge, he knew he had a responsibility to share it.

* * *

"Want to go to dinner?" Krennic entered Mon's office without a knock.

"No." She replied, her eyes trained on the Emergency Security Enforcement amendment before her.

"Why not?" He asked, thinking Kenobi was lurking behind a pillar somewhere to whisk her away to a special meal.

"I don't feel well," she replied in a flat voice, still not meeting his eyes.

"All right..." he said with an air of suspicion.

She didn't say anything more and a heavy pause enveloped the space between them. With a scowl, he turned to go out.

"Orson," she called. He stopped and glanced over his shoulder.

"If you could," she continued, "would you do something different?"

"What do you mean?" He asked softly.

"Something other than your job now—would you do something else?"

"I—I'm not sure," He came back over and took the chair across from her desk, "I've never really thought about it."

"I honestly can't imagine doing anything else," she said as she took in the mounds of documents on her desk, "I've always known that I would lead this life."

"I can't say," he said, "that I've held the same amount of certainty as you have, but I've always been striving for more than what has been given to me—and life has given me very little. Why do you ask such a thing? Dealing in the hypothetical is usually a waste of time unless there is a pressing need. You're a senator; are you in danger of not winning your reelection?"

"No," she said, "I was just reelected last year."

"Then what is bothering you?"

"I feel the Chancellor has overstepped his boundaries," she began, "and has thrown the separation of power off balance."

"He's led us successfully through a major war!" Krennic exclaimed.

"But he's dismantling our Constitution while doing it!"

"It was for the good of the Republic," he countered, "These were drastic times and drastic measures were taken. Everything done was relative to the severity of the situation. You, of all people, should be able to see that, given your consecutive brushes with death."

Mon shook her head, "Be that as it may, the wars are now ending. He doesn't need his emergency powers anymore."

"He is a good, strong leader," Krennic shifted tensely, "How are you unable to see that?"

"I _am_ able to see that!" Mon said, "But his position should not be infallible. Balance must be restored before we slide into a dictatorship."

Krennic huffed an incredulous laugh and Mon's mouth screwed closed angrily.

"A dictatorship," he laughed again, "That's absurd."

Mon briefly narrowed her eyes. "No, it isn't. I already feel powerless in my job as it is. The new amendment he passed _by himself_ yesterday is another step in that direction. A Republic cannot subsist on the power of executive order. It must rely on the elected representatives of its constituents, those chosen to be the people's voices."

"Hmmm," Krennic observed her, "you don't seem very ill, do you?"

"I _am_." She persisted, "I'm sick over this, Orson. I can't do my job."

"Why?"

"Because it's disappearing!"

"You're being ridiculous." He said, "You speak as if the galaxy will implode tomorrow. It's not going to—not by any means. Our government is strong and stable, as it's always been."

Mon was silent and gave up. She threw down the laser pen onto the desk and leaned back in her chair.

"I hope you are right." She whispered.

"And I don't want you talking to Kenobi anymore."

"Excuse me?" Mon hissed.

"I think he's upsetting you," Krennic turned the corners of his mouth down in an offhand sort of way, "Perhaps it's best to keep your distance."

"You can't tell me who my friends are."

"I'm not _telling_ you anything," He said, "It was merely a suggestion."

"I can tell you that _he_ definitely does not upset me."

Her words stung. Mon knew they did, too. She continued: "Orson, there is nothing to be jealous about."

"You're leaping to ludicrous conclusions."

She stood. "No, you're leaping to ludicrous conclusions."

He paused as he regarded her carefully.

"Listen, why not come out with me, have some wine—"

"While the Chancellor dismantles our government?" Mon cried, "No, I'm staying here to read this amendment, even if it takes all night. By the looks of it, it might. I have an early meeting."

"You sound like you're treading dangerously close to treason, you know that, right?"

"Thank you for pointing that out for me," Mon crossed her arms, "It didn't dawn on me until you mentioned it."

"Mon," Krennic's tone was pleading, "You must be careful with this."

"The time for being careful has passed."

She was right and he knew it. He admired her passion immensely and could definitely relate to it, but he didn't tell her so.

"I think it's time for you to leave." She said softly.

Krennic wanted to say something else, something that possibly could've changed her mind, but he couldn't find the words. They got lost somewhere between his heart and his lips.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

A/N: Chapter 11 was one of the most-read chapters I've posted on this site. Thank you, my dear possums! Am I Richard Nixon? Because ya'll are acting like the silent majority! Hehe….ehhhhh 1960s political jokes. **wipes tear away** Eh. Good times. Have I mentioned my self-worth is inextricably linked with the amount of reviews per chapter I receive? Anyroad, I'm so, so pleased with the response this story has received. It makes me believe in the rarepair! Vive le rarepair!

* * *

After a sleepless night, Mon went to Cantham House for the meeting. She brought stacks of holotablets filled with her notes on the amendment; it was her way of arming herself against the Chancellor. She was ready to go to war in the only way she knew how: through legislation.

Bail helped her assemble her notes for her presentation to the Loyalist Committee.

"Did you stay up all night?" He asked, perceptible concern written across his brow.

"Yes," she sighed, the circles under her eyes nearly purple, "It was worth it, though. I have a clear idea of what needs to happen now."

The other members of the committee filed in and showed obvious surprise at Mon's efforts. Padme gave her an encouraging, if not weary smile.

"You've been busy!" Nee Alavar exclaimed as she sat down on the large sofa.

"I hope your work is not in vain," Fang Zar said, "But I hope we can repair things. Perhaps we should try to meet and discuss—"

"—I think we need to turn up the pressure on the Chancellor." Mon said firmly, "We can't back down from this."

Fang raised his hands in surrender. "We can't be too careful—"

"—We _are_ being too careful!" Mon corrected him.

"Let's hear Mon's presentation," Padme shifted in the armchair, unable to get comfortable.

The group sat down in front of Mon. A few exchanged glances at her harried appearance. Her hair was in a casual ponytail down her back instead of being in her usual bun. Yesterday's eyeliner was streaked across her eyes. Her robes were rumpled.

"All right," she said and clasped her trembling hands together, "I feel that in light of recent events, we as members of the Galactic Senate and the Loyalist Committee need to take immediate legislative actions. We owe it to our constituents to fight this."

"Still, though," Fang said, "we can't go rogue."

Save for Padme and Bail, a collective feeling of united agreement against her propelled Mon to begin the presentation. She took a breath but was pre-empted by a simultaneous buzzing of everyone's comlinks. The senators glanced at each other nervously before reading the message:

 _Alert! The Supreme Chancellor has passed the Sector Governance Decree. See file attached for document text._

So now the Chancellor wasn't even calling them into the chamber anymore. Just sending out messages with a click of his finger. Mon scrolled through the document on her holotablet as her hands shook, which made the words on the screen tumble back and forth. Yet the message was clear.

"So," she said as they all scanned the document, "He's created the positions of Planetary Governors and Sector Moffs…."

"And these so-called Moffs have control of the Sector Armies?" Bail asked as he read.

"So if the Moffs are representing the 20 sectors," Fang rubbed his eyes, "where does that leave us?"

"In a military state." Padme said darkly.

"The senate, I mean," Fang clarified.

"The senate no longer exists." Mon murmured.

There was a short pause of silence in the room.

"All right, Mon," Fang said, "Let's hear it."

It took only forty-five minutes for Mon to outline her ideas: Get two thousand senators to sign a petition requesting the Chancellor to step down in favor of having a new election. Of course, Mon had originally planned for the timeline to be over the course of a few weeks; getting two thousand signatures would not be an easy feat. In light of the Governance Decree, they would now have to do it over a matter of days.

The meeting was swiftly adjourned after Mon assigned each senator to a sector. Armed with what was left of their laws, they went out to engage in some heavy-duty persuasion with the majority of their colleagues.

Padme laid a hand on Mon's arm before leaving, "You've done good work. After I speak with my friends of the Chommell Sector, I'm setting up a meeting with the Chancellor. He can no longer avoid us—especially if our voices are united."

"Thank you, Padme," Mon threw her arms around her and gave her a squeeze.

After Padme left, Bail and Mon were alone.

"I'm concerned about her," he said as he handed Mon a cup of tea.

"As am I," she agreed, "she hasn't been herself for months."

"But I'm concerned for you, too." Bail said.

"What do you mean?" Mon tried to laugh it off as she flipped her hair behind her shoulder.

"I heard something," he started carefully, "Something I cannot verify. Something—something you need to know."

"What?"

"I—I—" Bail paused, looked at his exhausted friend, and shifted his thoughts, "I heard the Jedi were planning a rebellion."

"I haven't heard any such thing."

"Well, it's probably just Chancellor-generated propaganda," Bail shrugged, "never mind."

"But why would that make you concerned for me?"

"Oh—" Bail stammered, "well—I know Master Kenobi has had your ear—I wanted to be sure you weren't getting involved in anything."

"The Jedi are as private as they are trustworthy," Mon smiled, "Even if they were planning something, he'd never let me know."

"I suppose you're right."

* * *

The senators of the Bormea sector were not hard to convince about signing the Petition and Mon was thankful for it. Hers was ceremoniously the first name signed on the document, and she knew she'd be taking the brunt of any fallout from it. After a straight twenty-four hours of schmoozing, convincing, and negotiating, Mon was exhausted. She slipped onto her couch with a glass of wine, nearly comatose. She almost didn't hear the knock at her door.

"Who is it?" She called, though her voice was echoing more into her glass.

"…Me."

She rose from the couch and let the door slide open. Krennic stood in the doorway and was momentarily aghast at her haggard appearance. He then recovered himself and presented her with two bags of groceries.

Mon was confused: Why in the world was Orson Krennic at her door with groceries?

"I thought," he said, "you might be hungry?"

She laughed in one huff and let him come in.

"Your droid is a good cook, if I recall," he said, "I sent out my assistant and he got everything P79 needs for a gourmet meal."

"I'd like that very much."

With P79 bustling away in the kitchen, Mon and Krennic settled in the living room.

"Did you hear of the Decree?" Mon asked.

"Yes, I did."

"Thoughts?"

"I think the Chancellor," Krennic said in an even voice, "would be wise to make you a Moff. Moff Mon Mothma. Has a ring to it."

Mon looked at him incredulously, "Never in a million light years."

"He'd be wise to keep you on his side," Krennic pointed out simply.

"Is that a compliment?"

"Indeed, it is."

She smiled in spite of herself, "So you're implying there are sides now—inside the Republic?"

"Pardon?"

"Are you saying," She tucked her legs into a kneeling position on the couch—a move that drove Krennic a little mad, "that sides need to be taken?"

"I think the sides were always there," he explained as he watched her trace her fingertip around the rim of her wine glass. "The Clone Wars just caused the shakedown needed to reveal them."

"And what side are you on?" She inquired, "Since no one can just be for the Republic anymore?"

Krennic stared at her for a long time. Did he even want to attempt to formulate an answer to that question?

He put his wine glass down on the coffee table and took hers too—far away from her white robes. Krennic then shifted closer to Mon and held her face in his hands.

He shook his head, "Can I get you to stop being a senator—just for tonight?"

She laughed, "But it might be my last chance to be one."

Mon took a deep breath as Krennic still cradled her face. She was at the point of delirium. The Republic was falling down around them and it was growing increasingly challenging to find the cognitive strength to _always be dealing with that_. Maybe for one night, she'd forget she was a senator—and maybe she would have to get used to being defined by something else other than that title.

She exhaled and closed her eyes. The moment she was in darkness, she felt Krennic's lips envelop hers. She let him take her tightly into his arms and make a trail of kisses down her neck. She cooed in response as his mouth pressed against her skin and his hand slid the top of her gown off of her shoulder. His lips continued down, across her chest, to the curve of her cleavage. Mon flopped back onto the couch and sighed. Krennic took the sound as permission. After quickly ridding himself of the burden of his gloves, he snaked his hands under her gown and slid them up the outside of her legs to her hips.

"Dinner is served, ma'am!" P79 declared proudly.

Mon burst into laughter and then covered her mouth, "Be right there. Thank you!"

"What do you mean, ' _be right there_ '?" Krennic laid his head onto her abdomen in exasperation.

"I'm so sorry," Mon said, embarrassed, "I'm so starving."

Krennic turned his head to look up at her; he rested his chin on her rib. "You're joking, right?"

She shook her head, "I don't think I've eaten in a day and a half."

With the biggest exhale of his life Krennic raised himself up, and as he helped her to her feet, he fleetingly thought of running away with her to some unknown planet without any distractions like jobs or food.

The meal was delicious and Mon ate happily. Krennic watched, a little surprised, and more than a little turned on, when she sucked the last of the sauce off of her thumb.

"What was that sauce?" She asked.

"Some sort of nut—areca, I think."

"I've never heard of it—where is it from?"

"Some place called Scarif, I think."

"Where is that?"

He shrugged. "Outer Rim, maybe?"

They both did a good job at polishing off Mon's wine and then opened the bottle of fine vintage Krennic had brought.

"How is _your_ job going?" Mon asked.

"Extremely well, for once," he said, "I have a feeling I may be in line for a promotion."

"Another?" If she had been sober, she would've been able to make the grim connection between her job falling apart and his being elevated, but her hazy mind ignored the implications behind his words.

"Possibly," he said, taking a large sip of wine, "We are developing synthetic kybers now. One step closer in the extensive construction process."

Mon paused at the words she couldn't ignore. Her understanding of energy source procurement did not include extensive construction.

"Construction?" She asked.

Krennic immediately realized his mistake, "What I—"

"What exactly are you building?"

There it was. The question that energized him. The question he had secretly wanted her to ask all along. Krennic took another sip of wine as he thought out how best to proceed. He'd never relied on honesty before in his life. Perhaps this was the best time to try? At least she'd probably be impressed by the work. He had to build himself back up in her mind somehow.

"It's confidential." He said, "Tell your droid to power down."

Mon was struck by his words and immediately gave P79 the order without taking her eyes off of him.

"You mustn't speak of it to anyone." He said.

"Of course."

"You must swear."

"Orson, I—"

"Swear."

"I swear."

"I don't work for the Corps of Engineers," he started, his gaze fixed on her verdant eyes, "at least, not anymore."

"Where—where do you work?"

"The Special Weapons Group."

"…What?"

"It's a part of the Strategic Advisory Cell," he explained, "I say I'm still apart of the Corps to cover. So, we're working on something strictly top secret. It's to be a battle station, the likes of which have never been seen before. A battle station so large, it would look like a small moon. A battle station that houses as superlaser. Powered by kyber crystals."

"Superlaser?" Mon let the words roll off her tongue and was stunned at how easy it was to say them. "Why?"

"Imagine," Orson's eyes flashed with an intensity that she was witnessing for the first time, "a weapon so terrifying, so awful, so _powerful_ that it could annihilate an entire planet."

He paused for effect.

"I don't think I want to."

"Of course you don't!" Orson said, "And that's the point: the weapon should inspire fear so great that populations will be afraid to rebel in the first place."

"And how long has this project been in the works?"

"The past few years." He said, "We've known that the Separatists were constructing some sort of superweapon, so it became a race."

"And the kyber crystals were the key?"

"Of a sort, yes," he was getting giddy that he could speak with her about this, "We knew that we would need countless stores of kybers in order to test how to harness their power."

"Which was why you were so distraught the night of the Environmental dinner?" She asked.

He shrugged. "The stakes were high."

"So the Chandrilan mines were crucial to the life of your project."

"Oh yes, very much so."

She paused to see if he caught how callous his words sounded. He didn't.

"Orson," she said, "you do realize that this sounds like you've used me."

"No!" He protested smoothly, "no, not at all. And this was before I promised to be honest."

She twisted her features in dissatisfaction and arched an eyebrow.

"I couldn't tell you the nature of why I needed the crystals—at least give me that."

"Fair enough." She conceded.

"And I—" he stopped himself.

"What?"

"No…I…"

"No, tell me what you were going to say."

"I really—"

"Tell me."

Krennic regarded her for a moment, took a look at his empty wine glass and resolved himself.

"I couldn't ever have foreseen these circumstances."

"What do you mean?"

"The circumstances in which we currently find ourselves." He said, "That night in the storeroom, I thought it was a stroke of luck that your planet happened to have _exactly_ what I needed. All I knew…"

He trailed off for a moment before continuing.

"All I knew," he said, "was that you were gorgeous. And that I was very fortunate to be stuck in that room with you."

"Our lives were in imminent danger—and that was your line of thinking?"

"…Er, yes." Krennic cleared his throat, "I jumped at the chance to work with you. I don't have very much experience with luck. I usually make my own. I never thought in a million years that it would lead...to _this_... which is why I need to tell you to be careful."

"Orson, I'm only trying to do my job," she explained, "The Decree today has made my position null and void. You keep making me out to be a traitor and I am deeply wounded by that."

"I'm only trying to look out for you."

"I have several different people in my life looking out for me." She sighed.

"I see."

"Listen," she rose from the table and positioned herself in his lap, "You don't have to worry about me—"

"If your actions are misinterpreted by the powers that be," Orson persisted, "You may be in deep trouble..."

"Are you trying to tell me that my life is in danger?" She eyed him, unamused.

"I know—I know, I've lost some credibility on that front—"

" _Some credibility?_ "

"All credibility." Krennic conceded, "But this time, I'm being honest with you."

 _"This time_?" She asked with a wry smile, "As opposed to all the other times?"

"I'm sorry for ever deceiving you." He said suddenly.

Her smile disappeared as her countenance grew serious. She nodded in acceptance of his apology. Her mind, saturated with wine, was unable to entertain any more complex thoughts. She didn't comprehend the scope of his project, likely because she didn't want to. She was very much taken with his apology instead. Perhaps that was the first of a few mortal mistakes she would make over the next few weeks.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13.

A/N: As always, thank you for the feedback! I appreciate it. FYI, I am deviating slightly from Revenge of the Sith canon. But I guess the whole pairing that I've created deviated in the first place sooooo….

* * *

 _Palm trees swaying in the wind. Cerulean waters. Balmy breezes. A green flash of light._

Mon awoke with a start. Her head throbbed with the images that her mind had conjured while she'd been asleep. Her head also throbbed with last night's wine. She sat up on the bed and realized she was still in her clothes—and wasn't under the covers. In fact, the bed hadn't been unmade at all. Her apartment was silent. She checked the living room and found only more silence. She spied her comlink on the end table and checked the messages.

The first one read:

 _You fell asleep. I advise that you drink water._

She smiled wryly to herself. The other message she read was about a last minute meeting with the Chancellor. Mon raced over to the senate and met with several members of the Loyalist Committee-cum-Delegation of 2000 outside of the Chancellor's offices.

"No matter what happens," Bail said to Padme and Mon, "I'd like to have a meeting after this at Cantham House."

"Of course," Padme said, "I called in several favors for this meeting, but there are no guarantees. But it's the best we can do at this point."

"Do you want to take the lead in this?" Mon asked her.

"Yes, I do." She responded, "Chancellor Palpatine and I have had a fairly good personal relationship."

"All right then," Bail sighed as he took both Padme's hand and Mon's hand in his.

Mon and Padme then took each other's hands as well, so the three formed a small circle.

"Whatever the outcome in there," Bail said, "We stick by each other. No matter what."

"Indeed," Padme said, "we're all in this together. To the end."

* * *

Krennic sat at his desk surrounded by designs and blueprints, which were all projected in hologram. He sat back in the chair with his hand propped against his jaw as he sunk deeper into thought. He had seen the old comlink on her nightstand when he delivered her to her bed the night before. His fingers had even grazed against it as he left the room. Krennic had wanted to take it, to probe it, to scour the device for messages. But he didn't. It stayed where it was on the table.

Now, his thoughts were consumed by it. If Mon were actually engaging in sedition, that device was probably the proof. He knew the punishments for those who went against the Republic were becoming increasingly more stringent and brutal. He needed to stop her before she could do something irrevocably foolish. He couldn't fail her.

* * *

"The meeting was lip service," Padme sighed, "Nothing more."

The senators sat dejectedly in Bail's house around a large table with a lunch spread, all untouched.

"What else is there to do?" Mon asked.

"We need to discuss this with the Jedi," Padme persisted. "I know they are trustworthy—even if the Chancellor has control over the Council now."

Bail opened his mouth to protest but he was cut off by a crack of thunder that shot across the bright sunny sky. The group raced out to his landing platform and watched a horrific scene unfold before them. A squadron of fighters blew across the cityscape. Mon followed their path as they descended upon the Jedi Temple. Almost immediately, a fusillade of laser shots rained down on the structure. The senators gasped, some cried out, others grasped each other's arms. Nee Alavar turned away in horror as part of the temple caught fire.

"Padme!" Bail cried.

Mon glanced over to her right and saw Padme swoon. And before anyone could catch her, she tumbled to the floor in a faint. Mon dropped to her knees and cradled Padme's head in her lap.

"Padme? Padme?" She repeated her name for several seconds until her friend's eyes fluttered open.

"What is going on?" Senator Tills asked, though Mon was unsure if she meant the temple attack or Padme.

"Let's get her inside," Bail scooped her up in his arms and went back into his apartment.

As the shots continued outside, the group hastily decided that it would be best if everyone returned to the safety of their homes.

"Can you take her home?" Bail asked Mon.

"Of course." She said.

"Take my ship." He said. "I'll come retrieve it from you when things calm down."

Mon nodded and saw the senator home. Upon entry to her apartment, Padme glanced around, as if hopeful there would be someone there. Mon found this odd; Padme lived alone.

"Do you want me to stay?" Mon asked her.

"No, no…" She said absently as she brushed her hand across her abdomen. "You can go."

"I'll get you some water, at least."

Mon did so and brought it to Padme, who was prostrate on the couch. She grasped Mon's hand as she accepted the glass. A sheen of perspiration glistened on both her head and neck. Her droid fluffed a pillow behind her.

"Thank you, ThreePO," Padme murmured.

"You're burning up," Mon placed a gentle hand onto her forehead. "Let's get these heavy robes off of you—"

At first, Padme protested but exhaustion overtook her and she allowed Mon to help her take off the brocade coats she wore. Down to a simple shift, her condition was finally made obvious. Mon said nothing, and hid her reaction as she watched Padme drift off into a fitful sleep.

Mon took a seat on a nearby ottoman and waited for a few hours until the chaos outside died down. It was evening when Padme finally woke up again. Her color had improved and she asked for another drink of water. Mon retrieved one for her and she watched as Padme locked eyes with her sadly, signalling that she knew her secret had finally been revealed. Mon shifted to the couch and threw an arm around her shoulders.

"What? What?" Mon searched her face, "This is amazing—"

"No, it's—"

"Padme, it'll be fine—anything you need—"

An airspeeder suddenly appeared next to Bail's ship on the landing platform. Obi-Wan hopped from the vehicle and ran up the stairs to the living room.

"Master Kenobi!" Mon cried, "What is going on—"

"Senator Amidala," he started, "I must speak with you."

"Of course, Master Kenobi," Padme sighed sadly.

"Will you excuse us, Senator Mothma?"

"Certainly," Mon replied, "I've got to get home anyway. Padme, please contact me if you need anything."

The Naboo senator smiled feebly and nodded. As Mon went down to the platform to board Bail's ship, Obi-Wan trailed her and grasped her arm.

"Have you the comlink?" He asked softly.

She nodded, startled by his intensity.

"Things are falling apart," he said.

"The temple—"

If other events like the one today," he said in a hushed but focused voice, "make it impossible for you to stay, know that you have a way out. I may not be able to help—but I will do what I can."

"Likewise, Master Kenobi." She answered.

He relinquished her arm and nodded.

Just after her sliding her apartment door tightly closed, Mon received a message on her comlink:

 _Are you all right?_

 _Yes_. She replied.

 _Are you home?_

 _I am now, yes._

There was a knock at her door. Mon opened it. Krennic stood in the hall, his hands clasped in front of him. A shiny new blaster was at his belt.

"Well," she said, "that was quick. I didn't even see you in the hallway."

"I was concerned," Krennic stepped in, "It seems the Jedi have rebelled and thus have put the entire city in danger. I have a meeting with the Vice Chancellor in just a few minutes, but I came to ensure that you were safe."

He went to the window and surveyed the trail of black smoke emanating from the top of the temple. Mon followed him over and looked out across the city as well. She immediately thought to contest his words but ultimately decided to give up on it.

"Now that the Republic has been freed of its shackles placed upon it by the Jedi," Krennic said, "There will be major changes. Exciting times."

Still, Mon said nothing.

"More than a few things weighing on your mind?" He asked.

"More than a few, yes."

Krennic grasped her hands, "Imagine, Mon! Don't you see that with the Jedi vanquished, the Republic can ascend to its full potential?"

"You mean that in regard to your project—the use of the kyber crystals."

"That's very true," Krennic said, "but it extends beyond that. The Chancellor will lead us to greater glory. You should make amends now so you can partake in it, get a piece of it all."

She stiffed against the words.

"Make amends while there is still time, please, Mon."

She pulled one hand up and placed it against his face. "If I had to leave, would you come with me?"

"Oh, don't be ridiculous. _Leave_?"

"Would you?"

"Why are you even asking this? Like I said about hypotheticals—"

"Orson," her voice was quiet, "would you?"

"Where would you go?"

"Would you leave with me?"

"But this is your home. You belong here—" _with me._

"But if it got to that point—would you come with me?"

She watched him and didn't allow his eyes to wander from hers. He didn't speak. He didn't inhale as if to begin to speak. He didn't open his mouth in a show of searching for words. All he did was gaze back at her, his blue eyes flashing.

"We could go, Orson," Mon's voice was barely audible and very broken, "We could be together away from all of this."

He stared at her for a moment, frozen at her words.

"I've got to get to my meeting," he said flatly.

He turned on his heel and left her apartment.

The door slid soundlessly behind him. The air in the hallway seemed thinner and he inhaled deeply to catch his breath. He took a moment to compose himself, stiffened as he stood straight, and proceeded to leave the building.

He was approaching the turbolift when its door opened, revealing Bail Organa. Krennic swiftly took a breath through his nose and set his jaw in response to seeing the senator. Organa stepped out into the hallway and locked eyes with the Commander.

Organa was a few inches taller than Krennic, a fact that Krennic immediately noted as the senator headed directly for him. However straight he stood, he couldn't help his neck from sloping forward, like a predator watching his prey.

Or like a cornered animal.

Krennic anticipated ugly words, or even a physical altercation from the way Bail looked at him, but as they neared each other, Bail did not speak. Nor did he move in any way other than forward down the hall. They passed each other and Krennic threw a glance over his shoulder. Bail did not look back.

While many senators lived in the building, Krennic knew whose apartment Bail was going to.

* * *

Bail knocked on the door and it opened almost immediately. Mon's face fell, he noticed, at his presence, but she swiftly corrected herself and recovered.

"Good evening, Bail," she said, "Are they fly lanes clear now? Your ship is tethered downstairs."

"Yes, I saw it on the way up," he responded, "thank you. How is Padme?"

"She's resting." Mon thought about telling Bail about what she'd discovered but decided that it was Padme's secret to tell.

"Good," he said, then, after a pause, "Mon, do you have a minute?"

"Of course."

He came in and they sat together in the living room. She offered him a drink, but he declined. Mon steeled herself for what she knew would be an unpleasant conversation.

"Mon," he said, "I think it's time to make some plans."

"All right, then."

"You must ensure that you have a way to get out," he said, "And I will help in whatever way I can."

"Thank you, likewise, Bail."

"Also," he continued as he reached into a deep pocket in his robe. From it he pulled a blaster gun and laid it before her. "You have to protect yourself."

Mon recoiled from the weapon. "Oh, Bail…"

"Take it. I want you to have it. Keep it safe." He instructed, "Get clothes—something you'd never wear—something easy to move in. Have a bag ready to go."

"Bail—"

"They're cracking down on the undercity; security is very tight now down there," he said, "but it's your best bet for an exit. Memorize these maps."

"—You're scaring me—"

"I'm sorry," Bail laid his hand on hers, "But this is where we're at. Prepare."

She nodded.

"I—I also have something to tell you."

"What?"

Bail paused, looked away for a moment as if he were second guessing his decision, and then finally looked back to her.

"I overheard something," he said, "I—I can't be sure of everything I'd heard, but it had to do with you."

"Me?"

"Yes," he said, "I was at the Vice Chancellor's offices and I overheard a conversation he was having about you—and Castor."

"…Why? With whom was he speaking?"

"He was talking with Commander Krennic," Bail felt ill.

"About Castor?"

"Mon," he said, "They planned Castor's death."

She felt as if she had been struck across the face. Backhanded.

"Amedda made it happen," Bail said, "and Krennic requested it."

She put her head into her hands as the words hit her.

"I'm so sorry." Bail said.

Mon raised her head slightly and fixed her gaze at the blaster before her.

"Thank you for letting me know." Her voice quavered.

"I'm so sorry." He said again as he rose.

Bail made for the door, turned back for a moment, and saw Mon hunched over on the couch. He then continued out, leaving her alone.

* * *

"So Commander Krennic," Amedda said, "The Jedi have proved to be as malicious as we've always suspected. Now that the Jedi question has been answered, we are free to use the kybers as planned. Clear your schedule so that you are free to go to Chandrila next week."

As always, Krennic made a bow after being dismissed from Amedda's presence. But this time, it was without any resentment.

Krennic came out of Amedda's office feeling energized. From all of the chaos of the last several months, he felt himself emerge victoriously. With his career back on track, he set his sights on Mon. He had to succeed on that front. There would be no fantastical absconding to some far off Outer Rim wilderness. It would be a waste for him, not to mention for her. There was no scenario where he would find himself on an isolated planet, away from his duties. His job was inextricably linked to his identity. And Mon wouldn't steal away either. Not if he had anything to do with it.

He figured that when she suddenly appeared before him, his thoughts had willed her into his presence. But the dark look on her face jolted him.

"Come with me, _now._ " She ordered in a low voice.

Surprised by her demeanor, he followed her through the senate halls silently as they made their way to her office. She stayed one step ahead of him the entire time so that he was forced to focus on the rippling white cloak as it flowed behind her. Her anger was palpable to him and the cloak somehow seemed to amplify it. She turned back on her heel to face him only when they were alone in her office.

"I've just heard something," she began with tears in her eyes and her voice trembling, "that makes me ill."

"Mon, why don't you sit—"

"Do _not_ ," she put up her hands to fend off his touch, "do not tell me what to do."

Krennic relented, and was silent as he studied her—but he couldn't for the life of him figure out why she was so upset. She seemed to be overreacting a lot recently. Where was the calm, measured Chandrilan he'd first known? What had made her change so drastically? He sighed.

"I heard," she said, "that you had my fiancé killed."

" _What?_ " Krennic was outraged, "That is a lie."

"Oh yes?" Mon asked, "Now you're committed to the truth?"

"Mon," he said as he tried to grasp her hand, but she pulled away, "Please, please."

She backed away from him as tears began to threaten to fall from her eyes.

"You _must_ believe me," he said, "You must believe me. Please, Mon, you must. I never thought Amedda would have him killed—"

She shook her head at his words, "Then what _did_ you request?"

"To have him moved," Krennic became frantic. "I never thought he'd kill him!"

"Why would you request such a thing?"

Krennic closed his eyes and steeled himself, "Because Amedda instructed me to neutralize you."

She backed up so far away from him that she unexpectedly hit her desk. Mon stared at him for a few minutes, aghast. The silence lay heavily between them.

"What?" She asked feebly.

"Mon, please," they were the only words Krennic could muster, "Please."

"And is that why you're trying to convince me to make amends?" She asked.

" _No_." Krennic edged toward her, "I never thought Amedda would do such a thing. And I never thought that I—"

"Orson, I don't think I can take much more of this," she said, "I've given you so many chances, I've ignored so many things…"

"You must believe me." He said, "Mon, you must believe me."

He repeated the words again and again as he tried to take her into his arms. Mon backed herself around her desk as she tried to escape his grasp.

He raised his hands in surrender and stopped, "All right."

Mon had put her desk chair in between them and she stood behind it like a shield. With her eyes locked to his, she forced a false calm over herself. If she hadn't, she would've crumbled before him.

"All right," she said softly, "tell me everything."

And, after a moment of silent deliberation, he did. He told her of that first meeting with Amedda about her. He told her how he had researched her before seeing her at the party: her policies, her social habits, her history. He knew everything about her before even talking her.

As he gave her the facts of the situation, Krennic laid everything out in a low, clear voice that was just slightly tinged with a shadow of desperation. He told her about how Amedda misinterpreted his instruction. She listened, frozen, from the other side of the chair.

"So," she said finally after he'd finished, "there always was a price on my head."

"Yes."

"And you warned me."

"And I still do today."

Her decision about going or staying had been made for her in that moment as tears began to stream down her face. She nodded and slowly made her way to him.

As he took her into his arms, Krennic believed she'd resolved to stay under his close protection. And his embrace enveloped her, Mon knew it was time to make some plans.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

A/N: Thanks for the feedback and the love and the follows and everything!

* * *

Their embrace was cut short by the buzzing of their comlinks. Mon squeezed her eyes shut and took a little solace in the fact that she'd be destroying hers soon enough.

"Back to the senate chambers, it seems," she sighed and rubbed her hand wearily across her forehead. The emotional exhaustion was mounting.

They headed out through the halls and, with a mass of senators and various other high ranking officials, entered the main senate chamber. It had been packed beyond capacity—an indicator that something big was going to be announced. Usually there had always been a large handful of senators absent from votes. Today, everyone was there and the sight was overwhelming.

Looking back on that day in later years, Mon would remember very little of the speech. She remembered Palpatine ascending to the podium, shining with some fabricated mandate beneath the black cloak that then enveloped his form. His voice echoed forcefully around the chamber, but his face remained hidden by a hood, and Mon found it chilling. Others took note of what was said that day, but she did not. She may have ultimately forgotten the words, but she never forgot the way they made her feel: secure in her decision to leave and motivated to fight against every belief that had spewed forth from his shriveled mouth. A roar of applause filled the chamber, which Krennic took part in, and it sent shiver straight through her.

She remembered Bail's face: stern, and seething with a quiet rage. Mon also remembered Padme's face. It was stricken with a quiet horror at the pronouncement of the Galactic Empire. Padme's beautiful, soft features were darkened with an emotion Mon would never forget because it would be the last time she would ever see her.

After witnessing the Emperor's declaration, Mon trudged back to her office. It was late, maybe midnight, she figured. She ultimately decided to go back to her apartment, whereas Krennic elected to out with colleagues to celebrate. He'd asked her to come, but she declined.

Mon saw that P79 found the time that day to go out and get the supplies she'd asked for: a black long sleeve shirt, black pants, a jacket, and a scarf. Mon had also reminded P to pay in cash. She found a simple drawstring bag in the back of her wardrobe and stuffed the clothing into it before hiding it under her bed.

Over the next week, Krennic and Mon were both busy with transition procedures. He saw his workload increase and she saw hers being whittled away by the newly-appointed Sector Moffs. As a result, they didn't get to see much of each other and soon Krennic left for Chandrila to reinstate the mine.

Of course, Mon continued meeting with Bail, Padme and the others at Cantham House. It had become abundantly clear over the course of the week since the declaration that the signatures on the Petition of 2000 were now damnable traitorous evidence against the Empire's efforts. The best course of action, they agreed, was that if anyone felt the need, that they would remove themselves from the Petition. Some did so to avoid persecution out of concern for their families, but the majority of the others held fast to the document. The core Loyalist Committee agreed to keep their names on it.

* * *

It was the evening after their latest meeting that Mon sat with Bail alone at Cantham House.

"Have you heard from her since the meeting yesterday?" Mon asked him.

"Nothing," he said, "it's very peculiar that she should disappear like this."

"Do you think she's gone into hiding—or has she been taken?"

There was an urgent knock at the door. Given the hour, Bail rose slowly and retrieved his blaster from a drawer in a console table by the front hall. Mon watched pensively as he peered through the peep hole. He let the door open just a crack.

"Bail!" Fang Zar's voice came from the hallway.

Bail then slid the door open and Fang scurried in, pale and sweating.

"What is it?" Bail demanded as he secured the entrance.

"Haven't you heard?" The frantic senator breathed.

"No?" Mon rose and raced over to him. Fang was trembling.

"They killed Nee."

" _What_?" Bail exclaimed, "How did you hear of this?"

"Her husband messaged me," he replied, "I had to destroy my comlink—it's the only reason I risked coming here. I've come to warn you. You must remove your names from the Petition. Meena was arrested this morning—brought out in shackles from her office."

"What?" Mon cried, "How—"

"I don't know," Fang shook his head as he clutched a small bag, no doubt filled with various necessities for escape, "But I'm going underground. I can't put my family through this. I just needed to let you know—I must be off. I've stayed too long already."

Without another word, Fang bolted out of the apartment and was gone.

"What do we do?" Mon asked.

Bail was silent as he thought. Before he could answer, his comlink buzzed. He glanced at it and dashed down to his landing platform.

"Come on, I'm taking you home," he said, "It's better if we're split up."

"What's going on?" Mon asked as they boarded _Tantive IV_. Bail didn't immediately answer.

"That was Master Kenobi," he said as they took off, "It's Padme."

"Well, I'm coming with you—"

"No, we need to stay apart," he was firm, staring straight ahead as he negotiated sharp turns across the city, "If anything happens—"

"Bail, don't."

"We need to carry on—promise me now."

"Bail, please."

"You're not coming with me." His voice was slightly raised, and then he quieted himself, "Promise me."

"I promise."

She disembarked at her building's turbolift and ascended to her apartment. As she readied for what would be another sleepless night, Mon sent a message to Kenobi:

 _Please let me know if there is anything I can do._

The only reply: _Prepare._

Bail awakened her at dawn. He swept into her apartment, checking furiously for wire taps and bugging. None were to be found, and so he proceeded.

"You need to sit down," he said. Maybe it was more an instruction for himself.

She complied and studied him. Bail looked exhausted; he closed his eyes for a moment before speaking.

"Mon," his voice broken by a sudden sob, "Padme…"

"No…no…" she whispered bitterly, then with more force, "… _no_."

Bail took her hands in his, but could not speak. He finally told her she'd died in childbirth.

"And…the baby?" She managed through gasps.

"There were two."

" _Two?"_ Mon sat upright for a moment, looking astonished.

"A boy and a girl—by Skywalker. Their parentage must be kept secret," he said, then after a pause, "Breha and I have always wanted a daughter…"

"Oh, Bail…"

"The boy is being taken to Tatooine by Master Kenobi," he said, "But…"

He trailed off and stared beyond her, to the window. The sun was beginning to rise.

"I must take my name off of the Petition," he said, "To protect—Leia."

Mon took a breath, "A beautiful name. Leia. I understand."

"I think I'm abandoning you—the cause—" he stammered.

"Never!" She cried, "You have a great responsibility now! And Padme was family to us—you must keep her daughter safe."

He nodded reluctantly. He would ultimately stay to be a dissenting voice in the Imperial Senate and be a good source of intelligence for a long time to come. For Mon, though, it was too late.

"Have you gotten word from Kenobi?" He asked.

"Literally _one_ word."

"He should be in touch soon." He said, "If you need help leaving—"

"Do _not_ worry about me," she said adamantly, "The baby—Leia—is too important. No more risks for you, sir. I can handle getting out of Coruscant."

Bail didn't quite believe her, but he gave her a hug of assent and rose to leave.

"Is there a funeral, then?" She asked

"Yes," he replied, "but at this point it's too risky for us to travel so publicly. I'm joining Breha on Alderaan tonight. If you are leaving, I suggest you do it soon."

She nodded, "When I'm out, I'll be in touch."

After Bail had left, Mon messaged Krennic:

 _When are you returning to Coruscant?_

 _Tomorrow evening. We should get dinner. Somewhere nice. I'm in line for a promotion, it seems.  
_

The news was not ideal; Mon had wanted to leave that night and to delay her escape was only asking for a world a trouble. Still, she knew she couldn't go without seeing Orson. She gritted her teeth, barricaded herself in her bathroom with the blaster that she didn't know how to use, and tried to sleep.

The next day, Mon went to work as usual. If she didn't make a show of normalcy, it would make her more suspicious than she already seemed. She dressed in her regular white robes. In a show of good (but false) faith, she had lunch with two Moffs—one of whom was extremely interested in the Chandrilan kyber mine and lamented about the planet not being in his sector of Seswenna. They all but patted her on the head and told her what a good little senator she'd been, what a steward of policy. How she could rise in the ranks to become a Grand Moff herself one day if she kept at it! She knew it was all lies. Mon's forced smile was so prolonged that it made her face ache afterward. She was so happy to be done with these patriarchal knaves.

* * *

That evening, Mon knew that she had to go directly home, especially after receiving a frantic message from Bail when he had found out she hadn't left yet. But she needed to try Krennic once more. Her actions were no longer being wholly dictated by reason. If they had been, she would've already been far from the planet.

Mon swiped her ID card through the security checkpoint at the Military Operations Center, knowing full well that the device would no longer exist later that evening. She probably should've already stopped using it. She glanced at the security cameras as she glided through the halls and thought about giving a little wave.

Mon had never been inside the building because she had no reason to go during her years as a senator. It was designed very much in the fashion of Krennic's apartment. The building was only a few years old; it was part of the renovation of the Senate District. Mon then realized that Krennic had probably worked on its construction during his tenure at the Corps of Engineers.

She found his office without much trouble and rapped her knuckles on the door. It slid open only a few moments later to reveal Krennic at his desk; he'd opened it remotely from his desk. He rose to greet her, but the look on her face struck a sharp pang of concern through him.

"What is it?" He uttered softly as he took her into an embrace. "I was about to come meet you..."

She threw her arms around his neck and held him for a long moment before looking at him.

"Time's run out." She said, "I need to go."

"No, no, why don't we go—"

"No, Orson," she gripped the sleeves of his tunic, "I need to leave tonight."

"Mon—"

"They've _executed_ Nee Alavar. They've arrested Meena Tills. It's only a matter of time before they come for me. You should know that better than anyone."

"I can't let you do this."

"Orson. Padme is dead. I can't even _think_ right now—please."

"Mon, you've—"

"Come with me."

Krennic was silent for a moment as he attempted to process her words. She took his hand and tried to pull him toward the door.

"But we need—" she tried to continue.

"No." He said.

"What?"

"I can't leave—not now—" he stammered in a stunted way, as what he was trying to say became a tangle of thoughts in his mind, "Not with—the project is expanding—I mean... _you_ need to _stay._ "

She pressed her forehead to his shoulder and sighed.

"Orson," her voice was muffled against the material of his tunic. He felt a warm burst of her breath as she huffed with a frustrated sadness.

He archived the feeling, along with the scent of her hair, and the sound of her voice as she pleaded with him:

"You know I can't do that," she said, tears falling in streams down her cheeks, "Don't ask me to choose when there is no choice."

He pulled her back from his chest and looked at her fiercely.

"This is it, then?" He spat, "All of this—done? You're not even considering staying?"

"How is that feasible at this point?" She cried.

"I could get you a pardon." He almost believed the words as they spilled from his mouth.

"Orson, please," she made for the door, but he held tightly onto her wrist, "I've wasted too much time already."

"And if I don't go, you'd still leave?" Krennic took a step closer and his voice settled into a menacing growl next to her neck as she struggled against his grip.

"...Yes." She shook her head in disbelief, wincing in pain, "anyone whose name is on the Petition of 2,000 is now considered a traitor. People have been removing their own names in order to escape the consequences, but I cannot."

"So you're _choosing_ this?" His face was nearly up against hers.

"Amedda wants me gone anyway! You told me yourself!" She craned her neck to avoid him and looked back at the door, "Please, Orson."

Krennic relinquished his grip on her with a shove and retreated to his desk chair. He sat down and swiveled to the window. His mind jumbled his thoughts to such an extent that it drowned out her words.

She was choosing a life on the run: treason, sedition, chaos, disorder. Death. Over him. Her voice had become distorted to him, nonsensical. He had failed her.

And he hadn't been enough.

"And what will you do?" His voice seemed to be generated from outside of his body; he didn't recognize it.

"I'm not sure yet." She lied. Mon felt the old comlink buzz softly in her pocket, but he didn't notice.

Krennic didn't speak for several minutes. After all of this, all he'd laid down for her, she was leaving. The betrayal began to rend him to a pulp. He sat and glared out the window. There was a fog over the city that evening and there was nothing to see but a grey void. It made her reflection in the glass very clear.

He hadn't been enough.

The betrayal then began to give way as an admixture of resentment and rancor seeped into him. It didn't take long.

"Orson!" She cried, her voice heavy as she fought against a sob.

It numbly jolted him from the thoughts searing through his head. He couldn't be certain of how quickly she'd gotten so close to him. Mon put her hand on his shoulder and he recoiled with hatred at how much he loved her touch.

"I must go." She whispered, "Please come."

He waited a moment. "I shall not be witness to your misguided martyrdom."

The hand retreated from his shoulder in one swift, fluid move. Krennic fixed his gaze on the mist before him and tired to drown out the sound of her rustling robes as she headed for the door. He heard it slide open, felt her pause in the threshold, and then he heard the door close.

With a sharp movement, he glanced at his hands, momentarily taken aback by their trembling. A few more seconds ticked by and it was only then that the full realization of what had just occurred hit him. Krennic frantically bolted from his office into the hallway. Empty, in both directions. He raced to the turbolift and then outside to the landing platform as he called her name into the mist.

She was gone.

* * *

In the airtaxi home, Mon pulled at her hands to stop them from shaking.

He had chosen to stay. Over her. She'd seen his reflection against the misty window as he had made his decision. He had chosen the Empire. The possible good graces of the Emperor. The blueprints. The schematics. Project Celestial Power. The synthetic kyber crystals. Over her.

Would confessing her love have made the difference? She was too paralyzed with anguish at the time to find the words. And she would've been too frightened to say the words, because she feared the response to them, whatever it may have been. Because she knew she had never been enough.


	15. Chapter 15

A/N: Just a few more chapters after this! This one's big _—_ it's my longest chapter ever! But I didn't want to break it up...it deserves to be a whole. Thank you all for your love and your feedback as usual. I drank a little wine while writing this one. Hopefully it was for the better.

* * *

Chapter 15

Or, In Which We See Our Heroes Glancing Backward, In Spite of Having to Push Forward

* * *

Krennic went back to his office, slowly, deliberately. His eyes were trained on the evenness of the steps his boots made on the shiny black floor. His hand throbbed; he hadn't remembered slamming his fist into the stone support beam of the airspeeder platform. Through the chaos of his mind, he figured he should've known that this day would come. And the fact that he hadn't realized that to begin with made a new kind of rage flow through him.

Unable to put together meaningful mental activity, Krennic arranged a trip to the Imperial Star Destroyer being repaired in the orbit of Kartoosh. The trip would only take a few days. Being away from Coruscant would clear things, he hoped. Until his mind calmed, he'd throw himself headfirst into the work. Even exchanging poisoned barbs with Tarkin was preferable to being alone with his thoughts.

* * *

Mon had checked the old comlink as soon as she was home.

 _Meet on Pekest at midnight Coruscanti time—in five days._

 _Five days_. The words sunk into Mon's stomach. What was she to do for five days? She had no choice but to hide out in the underworld. Upon arrival at her apartment, she dashed to her bed, pulled the small bag out, and got to work on getting dressed. With her new outfit on, she took a short moment to survey herself in her bedroom mirror. Mon had always been used to flowing robes, bell sleeves, and the brocade cloaks that always had been markers of her physical, majestic identity. They forced her to walk upright, with her spine straight and her chin high. Now, in the simple black pants and long sleeved shirt, she didn't recognize herself.

At least that would make things easier.

She threw the jacket on, wrapped the scarf around her neck, and stuffed her regular clothing into the small bag. Mon slung the bag across her back and raced to the kitchen and raided it for some food. She then stuffed some nonperishable items into the bag. Mon then moved to the living room and, after lighting her fireplace, she threw her ID and her comlink into the conjured flames. She was about to head out the door without a look back before being hit with a realization.

She went over to her couch and, from beneath the cushion, pulled out the blaster Bail had given her. She turned it over once in her hand before sliding it through the side of her belt.

It had come to this. And it made her feel like a hypocrite: to fight against war for so long and now, when the conflict had finally died down, to pick up a weapon.

After giving one last look around her home, she slipped through the door. She took a deep breath and took the turbolift down—down past the lobby, the platform, and the starship hangar—down to the bottom floor. A floor she'd never been to before because Mon had never been to the underworld. She was more than nervous; a part of her mind had shut down in preparation for it. She prayed that, with her blaster and a swift pair of feet, that she would ultimately make it to the Imperial Starship Hangar and commandeer a small ship.

It would be no small feat. She didn't have a concrete plan as to how to go about this task—she hadn't had the time to put one together. So, through the chaos, she'd have to work out one on the fly. There was no other choice but to navigate the labyrinthine depths of the city.

Mon was hit immediately with the fetid smell against her nose. The air was thick with the stench and she wrapped her scarf around her face to shield herself from it. The air was smoggy and at first, she had difficulty seeing more than a few feet in front of her before her eyes adjusted to the burn. Mon couldn't believe that this part of the city she'd spent the last eight years in; it was a different planet. She took the maps Bail had given her for granted; she'd thought she'd known Coruscant like the back of her hand. She did—just not this Coruscant.

To say the denizens of the underworld were unsavory was a gross understatement. They were characters Mon had never dreamed of, having spent the majority of her life in comfort, whether it was on Chandrila or in the Senate District. The bright lights and the sleek airspeeders didn't reach these levels. The images from this time would be seared into her mind for the rest of her life.

The heavy shadows of the winding streets and alleyways benefited her, though. Platoons of storm troopers were patrolling, rounding up various enemies of the state, and the hidden corners were the best hiding places.

Mon spent the first two nights of her journey in different service doorways at the root of large high rises. By the third day she had become pretty good at dodging the storm troopers; they had a rigid schedule and she grew to know it quickly. The third night was spent avoiding the city police and Mon got no rest because they were a little more prolific in their patrols. And on that third night, she was no closer to figuring out a plan to get off the planet. She vowed to herself, in a particularly low moment crouched behind a discarded broken down airspeeder, to never again be so unprepared.

It was on the fourth night that Mon had taken to carrying the blaster in her hand. Several others in the underworld did the same and, to a certain extent, it made her blend in. The grime from the air coupled together with the sweat on her brow, which also gave her a local vibe. Errant locks of hair hung in front her eyes as she darted through the streets, running from her former life.

She'd also grown to ignore the smell, which helped keep her thoughts lucid. This gave Mon a chance to run down the short list of contacts, even though she knew that all allies were off the planet already—or dead.

It didn't take her long to admit to herself that she only had one option. She changed her course from the Imperial Starship Hangar to the Military Operations Center. Judging from her vantage point, she was still many miles away. At her pace it would take her the entire day to get there.

In spite of her lack of preparedness as she negotiated her way through the Coruscanti underworld alley ways, Mon had successfully avoided capture. Though with each passing hour, it was getting more difficult; soon her disappearance would be noticed by the government officials if it hadn't been already.

It was when she was only a few blocks away from Military Operations when it happened. Hordes of storm troopers suddenly coursed through the streets and Mon bolted into a small doorway. This, she sensed, was out of the ordinary compared to the last few days. She wondered that if she had something to do with this change.

When all was clear, she darted into the street and across the open thoroughfare to another narrow passage, descended a set of stairs, and then came out at another roadway. Mon continued down the route, the darkness increasing as she ran. She didn't want to give herself away and illuminate her path, but the creeping piceous night made it almost impossible to see. Just as she turned a corner into a dead end, Mon heard a bootfall behind her.

In one fluid motion, she turned and witnessed a red laser shot from the blaster and it took her a moment to realize that it was she who had pulled the trigger. The storm trooper collapsed into a heap on the ground.

It was then that Mon dove toward the downed soldier and dragged him into the alley behind a large dumpster. She heard the chorus of boots drawing swiftly near her and, with adrenaline powering her actions, forced the storm trooper into the dumpster and jumped in after. She crouched low around the acrid garbage until the boots passed. When they were long gone, she saw the true force of what she'd done.

 _Just a clone._ _Just a clone_. She repeated to herself to avoid coming to terms with the obvious. A trail of blood began seeping across the white armor from somewhere in the torso. As she surveyed the form before her, she found her hands grasping the helmet and yanking it off. It revealed a human, a traditionally-born human, not a clone. She emitted a cry of anguish at the severity of what she'd done, but clamped her teeth down on her tongue to prevent herself from making any more noise. In spite of her trembling, she continued removing the uniform.

As Mon avoided the mounds of rubbish and the face of the corpse next to her, she stripped the storm trooper of both his armor and body glove. Her estimations were correct; it was big enough for her to slide into without having to remove her clothing. She set the helmet on her head, slung her black bag onto her back and leaped out of the dumpster. She grasped the gun that he'd dropped and, with her blaster in her bag, was off and running. It only took her a block to slow down and remember to act like a storm trooper.

Much to her horror, a commanding officer had spotted her out of formation and barked an order. She complied and jogged into her place. She patrolled the whole night with the platoon and no one noticed the small black back attached to her, nor did anyone notice that she had no idea what she was doing. At the end of the shift, they went back to the Military Operations Center—the exact destination Mon needed. After a feverishly chaotic few days which culminated in her first (and not to be the last) taking of a human life, she was thankful for the small bit of luck.

As the platoon entered the building, Mon darted into the lobby and slipped behind a pillar. She then marched over to the turbolift and headed up to the Special Weapons floor. Her fist paused at the front of his door; she knew that she'd be leaving all of her pride and credibility at the threshold of his office if she knocked. But before she could stop herself, her fist pounded twice.

The door slid open to reveal Krennic standing there, annoyed at the interruption. Mon studied him; it was not the response she was expecting. It only took a split second for her to realize that she was still wearing the storm trooper helmet. She removed it hastily and received the reaction she had anticipated: a withering glare.

His voice was low and monotone: "What are you doing here?"

"Orson, I need _—"_ Mon tried to edge her way into his office but he put his arm across the doorway, barring her entrance.

He looked her up and down with a certain amount of disdain. "Had a change of heart? Joined the ranks, then?"

His mouth curved into a cruel smile as he watched her squirm, exposed, in the hallway. Satiated by her discomfort, Krennic grabbed her by both arms and yanked her into the room. He threw her up against the wall, maybe too hard he figured, and she winced as the unforgiving armor dug into her shoulder blades. He tore away the armor on her arms and Krennic held her there as he spoke.

"You _dare_ ," he seethed, "you _dare_ to come back here? After you made it crystal clear that you no longer _required_ me?"

She turned her head away from him, but he wouldn't allow her to avoid his gaze. He jolted her once when she didn't answer, then tightened his grip and continued:

"So," he jerked his head in a gesture to her costume, "What's this nonsense? Have we descended into painful cliches?"

"I need a ship _—_ " She began, but his voice overpowered hers.

"You come here _asking_ for my help?" His eyes bored into hers _—_ the blue into the green _—_ as he gritted his teeth, "Do you realize how pathetic this makes you seem?"

"I wouldn't come here if I had another choice!" Mon met his glare.

"Is that meant to be a compliment?" He asked mockingly.

"You know what I meant." She said, "I don't want to put you in danger _—"_

"But you're going to anyway." His grip on her arms tightened even more and he got close, so that his nose nearly grazed hers and he could feel her heart pounding. He felt like sliding his hands up to her neck and throttling her. If he hadn't taken a deep breath, he might have.

With one final jolt, he released her and stepped back a few feet. He regarded her for a long moment before circling back to his desk. Krennic held up his holotablet.

"Could the honor of your presence here have something to do with the proclamation sent out today?"

"What proclamation?"

"'Alert!'" Krennic read in a flat voice, "'The following senators are missing and presumed to be in danger..." he scrolled down and mumbled some names, "and Senator Mon Mothma... if you have any information about their whereabouts, please let the Grand Vizier know immediately.'"

That explained the sudden surge in patrolling storm troopers.

"And how, pray tell, did you come across your current clothing, not to mention your current aroma?" He inquired in the same flat voice.

"I've spent a few days in the under city," she explained, "But all I need is a ship _—"_

 _"_ Yes, yes, you say it as if it's a small favor."

"I know what I'm asking. I know it's no small favor."

"And yet you ask it..."

"Because I know you'll say yes."

He balled his hand into a fist and tapped it against his desk top once to keep from striking his knuckles across her face because he knew she was right. There was a knock at the door. Krennic continued to stare at Mon and ignored the noise. There was a knock again, this time more urgent. Krennic advanced quickly toward her, so quickly that she backed away from him with some amount of fear, but he paid it no heed. He grabbed her by the wrist and shoved her into a dark adjacent room. As the door slammed closed, Mon was surprised to see that it was a bedroom; it seemed very apparent that Krennic lived at his office rather than at his apartment. She silently sat down at the edge of the bed and waited, wondering whether she was already dead or home free.

A few minutes later, the door slid open. Krennic stood, feet shoulder length apart, in the doorway. The light from the other room cast a shadow on him so that she saw him in silhouette, making it impossible to read his features. In contrast, he viewed Mon in a pale shaft of light; her face wore the sweat and grime of a few days on the run and her eyes, green and flashing in spite of exhaustion, were pleading with him.

"That was Amedda," he lied, "asking me about you."

She opened her mouth to respond but he said, "Don't. Don't speak."

He suddenly couldn't bear the sound of her voice. Not now.

Krennic stood there in the doorway and fixed his eyes on her silently. He stayed there for a few soundless minutes before turning back to his office.

He instructed her as he threw his cape around his shoulders: "Give me the uniform."

He was right; she had to get rid of it. She didn't tell him what she had to do to get it, but he surmised enough, especially from the small smear of dried blood on the chest plate. She stood and wriggled out of it awkwardly as he watched. Mon kicked the pile of armor over to him, satisfied that he seemed fleetingly disappointed that she was fully clothed underneath. He gathered it in his arms and left.

Krennic went out into the hall and, with the armor concealed under his cape, hurried to the trash chute. He slipped the armor down into it, knowing it would be incinerated within minutes. He then tended to a few security measures.

When he returned, she was still there, sitting in the dark on the bed. Without a word, he grabbed her wrist (which made her cry out in surprised pain), shoved her bag into her arms and pulled her into the office. He then tugged the scarf over her head so that it concealed her fiery hair and led her out the door.

He almost dragged her down the hall and was thankful that at this late hour, they would not be seen. Mon tried to free herself from his grip, but he held fast to her, the leather glove chafing her skin. He led her down a long back stairwell, dimly lit and damp. They seemed to descend forever and Mon was reminded of when he led her to safety in the darkness during the senate attack. It seemed a million years ago. Down they went, going further than truly necessary, Mon thought. When they finally emerged from the stairwell, they were in a low ceilinged hallway, darker than from where they had come. Somehow she knew this was not the way to the shipyard.

Krennic pushed further, and Mon trailed behind, the exhaustion from the last few days beginning to hit her in a real way. She watched as he stopped at a doorway at the end of the hall. The door slid open and a large cloud of steam burst forth from the room and enveloped them. Mon waved her free hand through the thick air and when the steam dissipated, she could see a laundry room with a few droids toiling away at some uniform alterations.

She felt his hand on her back and confused it for a moment of affection, but he pushed her quickly into the room to avoid discovery from any potential prying eyes (or cameras). He then disappeared down the rows of bundled laundry on shelves. He emerged a few minutes later with a neat stack of clothes: a white tunic, a belt, and black officers' trousers. Krennic shoved the clothing into her arms wordlessly and turned back. He then came back again with a pair of boots and a hat. It was the only way Mon would make it past the storm troopers stationed in the hangar, regardless of his escort. Even so, she stared dumbly at him in shock.

Misinterpreting her gaze, he turned to give her privacy to change. The movement jolted her understanding and she began to tear off her clothes, there in the midst of the shelved laundry bundles.

He turned back around and saw her, in a smaller version of his uniform, her long red hair in a loose ponytail curled down her shoulder, slipping her tiny feet into the shined boots. It reminded him of the night she wore his undershirt—but he aggressively pushed the thought from his mind. She stuffed her clothing into her bag, now bursting, and straightened the belt with a tug. She tried to fit the hat on her head against her mass of hair but it wouldn't stay.

"I need _—_ I need a pair of scissors." She whispered.

He glanced over at the droids working busily and strode over to the table. Krennic found scissors immediately and brought them back to Mon. She grasped them readily but paused for a moment as her hair slid between the blades. She took a breath and with a shaking hand, she leaned forward and clipped off her ponytail. He watched her in silent surprise as she continued to cut her hair, so that it was cropped close to her head. She laid the scissors on a nearby shelf, smoothed the uniform free from discarded hairs and replaced the hat, which now fit perfectly. She turned and looked at him, her eyes wide, verdant and glistening. She gave a short nod.

Krennic felt his heartbeat quicken in his chest and his rage was momentarily neutralized. He found himself unclipping his cloak and securing it around her shoulders. He thought about muttering something about a finishing touch, but decided against it.

With a deep breath, he led her out from the bowels of the building and to the shipyard. Due to the late hour, there wouldn't be many ships embarking; Krennic knew he would have to tread carefully. They approached the ascent center to register a ship for flight. Mon knew enough to hang back and drop her head. The uniform seemed powerful enough to those around her that they didn't even have to look at her face.

"Commander Krennic," the attendant said, "Which craft will you be taking out?"

"A skiff is all that is needed tonight." He replied coolly.

"Please scan your ID for the nature of your excursion."

Mon's heart jumped and she glanced to see what Krennic would do; they could be finished without a good cover story. He hovered his card over the scanner and it bleeped happily as the screen read, in bold letters: _confidential_. The nature of Krennic's work was now suddenly of great benefit to her.

Several yards down the way, a skiff, as requested, lit up in response to the security clearance. As they hurried to it, Mon caught up alongside him. She wasn't foolish enough to slip her hand into his, but she fought against the strong urge to do so. She boarded the craft without any trouble or alarm. The disguise had worked. Soon they were gliding through the atmosphere into the Coruscanti orbit.

"Destination?" Krennic muttered.

"Pekest." She replied in a soft voice.

He punched in the coordinates and the engine hummed. Pekest was an odd choice. It was a moon, a wasteland. She'd definitely need a respiratory device due to the low level of oxygen in the air. He wondered, as he stared out ahead, with whom she would be meeting as the moon couldn't have been her final destination; it had to be a rendezvous. Krennic dared not to ask, but tucked the name firmly into his memory.

Mon glanced over at him as the silence began to settle. "I just wanted to say _—"_

With a miniscule flick of his eyes, he gave her a quick, withering look and she stopped short.

They sat, for five hours, in utter, suffocating silence. Krennic was paralyzed with how much of what needed to be said and how much he was unable to say. His anger burned inside of him, but he still steered the ship on its course. Mon stared ahead, somber with the weight of what he'd risked for her. Any moment she expected a squadron of fighters to glide alongside them, but they never came. There was only more silence and the emptiness of space before them. The stillness crept into her and soon she was fighting off tears. She turned away so he couldn't see them rolling down her cheeks and she held her breath to quell the sob that threatened to burst from her chest.

And so, the hours rolled on and they sat, together _—_ alone _—_ in space.

Then slowly, like a sunrise, Pekest began to materialize in front of them. The moon was small enough that any ship would be visible from space. Obi-Wan would have no trouble finding her. They landed without difficulty, causing a small amount of moon dust to mushroom beneath the landing gear. As if on cue, Obi-Wan's small ship came into view and landed as well, just a few yards away. Mon forced herself to unbuckle the safety belt and rise. She chose to forgo the respiratory device; she'd only be out there a few moments.

She paused by Krennic for a moment, but being reminded of his reprimands before, she elected to say nothing and then continued outside. He watched as she came out around to the front of the skiff and journeyed across the small space between the two ships. The hatch from the waiting ship opened and that spurred him into action. Krennic shot up from his seat; he wouldn't miss another chance at a farewell. He descended the disembarkation steps quickly and came around to the wing. Hidden from view, he watched Obi-Wan Kenobi emerge from the waiting ship. Krennic seethed; he loathed the fact that Kenobi would be the one to receive her—and that he was still alive.

Obi-Wan halted suddenly for a moment when he saw Mon and then relaxed. He regarded her clothing, saying, "Your disguise is quite good."

It was then that Krennic emerged from hiding, striding toward them. The least he could do at this point was strike a little fear into a Jedi's heart.

Kenobi responded to his presence by activating his light saber. Mon turned, following Obi-Wan's gaze back to Krennic.

"No, Master Kenobi," she put out her hands to stop him from coming further, "He's all right. He was my only choice. He won't tell."

Obi-Wan eyed her warily from his defensive stance. She gave him a little nod and he retracted the beam, but did not holster it. Mon then turned back to Krennic. She knew that he was considering sending a blaster shot to Kenobi's chest. Krennic stood there, not moving his eyes from hers as she silently pleaded with him.

"Fine, then," Obi-Wan looked around uneasily, "let's go."

Mon threw her words over her shoulder, holding her gaze steadily on Krennic, "Just a moment. Please."

Obi-Wan obliged.

She walked back over to Krennic who stood in front of the skiff like a statue in white. He took as much of a breath as the thin Pekest air would allow as she approached him.

"Thank you so much," her voice shook, almost beyond intelligibility.

Mon wanted to reach up to lay her palm against his face, but had a second thought and fell short of touching him. She lowered her eyes, seemingly fixed on his insignia, and nodded resignedly. She then turned back and began to walk toward Obi-Wan with the embarkation ramp in her sights. But Krennic dashed forward to her and, grabbing her hand, pulled her back around to him. He drew her into a tight embrace and then feverishly crushed his lips into hers repeatedly. She clung to him as they held each other. Each breath became more labored as they kissed until they were almost gasping.

The kiss ended out of necessity.

Mon stepped away from Krennic, tears once again coursing down her cheeks and this time, she didn't bother hiding it. Her green eyes gazed at him one last time before turning toward the waiting ship. He watched, his chest heaving as his lungs searched for air, as his white cape fluttered behind her.

The elusive kyber crystal. The natural kyber with piercing green eyes, forever out of reach.

Mon ran up the ramp and took a deep breath as the hatch closed.

"Can't say I approve of your escort." Obi-Wan commented as they settled into their seats.

Mon stared straight ahead and her voice was toneless and low, but also even and firm: "He won't tell."

She wiped her face clean of tears and the grime of the Coruscanti underworld and breathed a clear, free breath. They took off quickly and jetted into hyperspace.

Krennic watched, frozen, as they disappeared. The only evidence that she'd been there was the path of footsteps she'd made when she had walked away from him. With his eyes trained on the drab powder that covered the moon, he collapsed to his knees suddenly; maybe it was due to the thinness of the air, maybe another reason. A dark thought ambushed his mind: how long could he stay there, given the quality of the atmosphere? How long would he last? How long would it take?

His breath rasped from his lungs and it shook him from the questions that bombarded his mind. Instead, he welcomed another feeling, or an absence of feeling. An ice. A freeze. A paralysis of feeling. He lifted his head again, focused, and glared forward into the void.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

A/N: SORRY FOR THE SUPER SHORT MICROCHAPTER.

* * *

They made planet fall at Yavin 4 six hours later. Obi-Wan spoke very little during the ride and Mon was grateful for it. He noticed the tears streaked trails down her face, but he said nothing. She focused on breathing— _in and out, in and out_ —as a way to calm herself.

When they landed, Mon was struck by the Yavin landscape: lush, green jungle as far as the eye could see. The air was mild and thick and the sun felt comforting on her skin as Obi-Wan led her down a narrow path through the forest over a series of gentle hills. Some unknown species of birds called to each other and their songs echoed through the jungle. From the high point on the final hill, she could see a river in the distance and more rolling acres of tropical forest. On the east side of the hill was a small structure, constructed out of native wood. Obi-Wan led her inside and Mon glanced around: there was a small cot, a transmitting station, and a desk. He gave her a moment alone to change.

Mon peeled off the Imperial uniform and left it in a pile as she pulled out her clothes from the bag. She felt a sense of calm rush over her as she slipped back into her cream robes. She balled up the tunic and pants and stuffed them back into the bag. For a moment, she wanted to light them on fire so that she could render them to ash and be done with them forever, but she rolled the bundle and shoved it under the cot, not admitting to herself that one day the costume may prove to be useful.

The cape lay on the rough-hewn floor. Mon stared at it for a long moment. She advanced over to it carefully, as if she were wary of some sort of power it held. In a swift movement, she picked it up and tore off the collar and with that, felt a euphoric release. With its frayed edges, Mon clipped the garment to the pendants she wore across her shoulders. She went back outside to meet Obi-Wan, who had been waiting for her.

"Food supplies are in a bin out back," he explained, "Bail has been here intermittently to set things up. It's not much..."

"It's more than enough," Mon said, "Thank you so much for securing this. I know the risks you've taken."

She glanced at him as the sun shifted through the trees, sending a shaft of light into their space. The lines on Obi-Wan's face were considerably more pronounced, even since the last time Mon had seen him at Padme's apartment. His eyes were not as bright and she didn't have to put together the reasons why.

"Thank you, Senator," he said wearily, "I have much faith in this endeavor because of you."

Mon was overwhelmed by his words; the weight of what she was choosing to do was finally hitting her. "It's Mon, now, please."

He nodded, "I leave this in your capable hands."

"—You're not staying?" Mon had a sudden and strong pang of panic course through her.

Obi-Wan paused for a moment, visibly exhausted. "I must be gone now."

He didn't say anything more and she knew not to ask. She watched as he lifted his hood over his head and moved a few paces down the hill. Obi-Wan paused for a moment and then turned back and returned to where Mon stood. She exhaled in surprise as he abruptly and hastily put his arms around her.

"May the Force be with you."

And he was gone.

* * *

BBY 18

Orson Krennic sat in his office alone, reviewing the notes from the successful test fire of the laser. It still wasn't big enough, not by a long shot, but it had worked. The feeling in his fingers as they traced over the words of a major breakthrough in the project was indescribable. It had been the first feeling he'd experienced in half a year, having spent that time in a parched emotional void. It was the feeling of triumph. He latched onto the sensation, riding the wave of euphoria that the endorphins had created inside of him. The test fire had made him feel focused and clear. Everything around him on the terrible planet of Geonosis seemed crisper—sharper. He took a breath to control his ecstasy; the force of the emotion was so great.

After months of emptiness, he'd found his way back to clarity. The emptiness had proven useful, as he had taken the time to pour all of his mental and physical energy into the project. And now it had paid off—and he wouldn't forget how that emptiness had steered him closer toward his ultimate victory. Krennic knew now that he could rely on it, that it wouldn't fail. He took a breath as a feeling of accomplishment washed over him; the time had been invested and now there was the tangible outcome. The certainty was immensely comforting to him.

A powerful force of satisfaction intoxicated him. He needed more of the drug.

A quick holo exchange with Amedda went well. The Grand Vizier wanted to set up a meeting with Krennic to see the progress. Things seemed to be back on track. He vowed to himself that it would stay that way and ensured that nothing—and no one—would get in his way of this feeling ever again.

There was a knock at his door. His assistant, Oyanta, poked his head into the office and reminded Krennic of the scheduled uniform fitting. Krennic merely nodded his permission, his eyes going over the beautiful words again. A parade of tailors and their droids came in with bolts of new fabric for his uniform. He hadn't quite gotten the promotion yet, but it was always nice to be prepared with new clothes for it. He always dressed for the job he wanted.

They set up and got to work cutting and stitching. After only an hour, they presented him with a new tunic and bespoke trousers to try on. He did so and came back out to his office to see that they were putting the finishing touches on his new cape. He turned, facing the window, as the tailor clipped it to his shoulders. Instead of the old, discarded one, the new cape now hit the floor. Krennic took a few steps and noted the notched slit in the back cutting a fine figure behind him as he walked. He assessed himself in the mirror they'd provided: the finish of the blaster barrel glinted in single beam of Geonosian sunlight that fell through the window and the starched collar of the cape made his shoulders broader. Krennic took a breath, entirely pleased with his reflection.

* * *

Please review! Thanks!


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

A/N: Took a little more time with this one. I had a hard time figuring out the timeline of what I wanted to do. The chapters from now on will jump through time a bit until 0 BBY/ABY.

ALSO, if you are a fan of Bloodline, look out for the doctor talking to two state troopers (with Kyle Chandler at the other end of the hall) in the 9th episode of Season 3. Because that is ME. Yay!

* * *

BBY 16

Krennic sat in the office with Amedda, a false smile plastered to his face. The workforce needed to build the battle station was proving far too costly. It was another setback that had to be dealt with immediately. It was also yet another setback that Tarkin had managed to blame Krennic for. The feeling of satisfaction he'd felt two years earlier was now waning. Tarkin was proving to be a growing problem.

Things had not been easy since Galen had disappeared. In fact, things had been terrible. When Mon disappeared, Krennic's humanity had begun to wear away. With Galen's escape, it was all but gone. He had begun to fail to recognize life around him and was only focused on _the work_.

But now, with Galen gone, much of the work had to be put on hold. With Tarkin now breathing down his neck, the construction of the station itself continued, but they were always forced to return to the question of the super weapon and the harnessing of the crystals to power it.

Amedda reminded him at the close of the meeting that the Emperor was more than displeased with the stalled progress. Krennic gave a response to cover himself, bowed to the Vizier, and exited the office.

As he strode into the waiting area, Krennic's gaze fell immediately onto Tarkin, who had been lurking in the corner. He stood with his hands clasped behind him, waiting patiently for his turn. Krennic noted that Tarkin always seemed to be coiled in a corner somewhere, always _waiting patiently_. It infuriated him.

"Governor Tarkin," he nodded, "a pleasure as always."

"Likewise, Director."

Tarkin's lip flitted upwards in satisfaction at seeing a glint of Krennic's displeasure as he emerged from Amedda's office. It was small, but it was there. The Grand Moff then went in to discuss some issues regarding the trading routes of the Outer Rim, specifically his own Seswenna Sector (but elsewhere as well) where robberies were becoming an issue. Security needed to be tight, especially around Geonosis and its orbit, where the battle station was being built.

"Trouble with our favorite Special Weapons director, Vizier?" Tarkin said in a cool voice that was laced with a quiet malice. He loved hearing Amedda tear Krennic down in their meetings.

"Always a setback with him," Amedda rolled his eyes, "The Emperor grows impatient. Thank you for keeping watch over everything."

Tarkin nodded in grave thanks, "When this project gets off the ground, so to speak, I'd like to be considered for the commander of the craft."

"But of course."

"Know that I won't fall apart so easily," Tarkin continued with a small grin, "whether it's at a meeting or an environmental dinner."

"That story still tickles you?" Amedda smiled at the memory.

"One of my personal favorites in the misadventures of Orson Krennic."

"Well," Amedda cocked his head in a moment of thought, "I daresay our Director may have something to say about your wanting the command position."

Tarkin pulled his mouth into a thin line. Amedda noted that the action made the moff look cadaverous. Tarkin tilted his head, aware that the Vizier was studying him. He then pondered how he'd look sitting on the other side of the desk. Pretty good, he estimated.

"Does he have any weaknesses?" Tarkin asked.

"How do you mean?"

"Any weaknesses? Shortcomings? Foibles? Hidden ones that we don't already know?"

Amedda was silent for a moment as he explored responses to Tarkin's question. He first fell on Krennic's lack of regard for authority, then pondered his questionable tactics and finally came to pause on his overall disagreeable demeanor.

"He did have one failure—but I can't be certain of it."

"Go on."

"During his transition into a higher Special Weapons position," Amedda started, "I tasked him with something of an initiation challenge. It was to neutralize Senator Mon Mothma. It was during this time that he serendipitously discovered her planet's store of kyber crystals. So she was kept alive for longer than planned. After the transition, she disappeared. He never completed the objective."

Tarkin was silent for a moment. "The senator from…Chandrila? I believe we met right after the transition. Useless sniveling thing she was."

"Not entirely," Amedda countered, "her voice was powerful in the senate."

"I was never impressed."

"Oh, well," The Grand Vizier made a small wave of his hand, "She appealed to the masses—the low-brow, as it were."

Tarkin was silent.

"Of course, now," Amedda continued, "we've heard nothing from her. For a time, we were concerned about her actions but it seems she's in hiding—and no longer a threat. Any rebellion now is far too _fractured_ to be effective. Because of the lack of chatter on the transmissions, I don't really care anymore. Haven't thought much about it at all."

Tarkin steepled his fingers. "So she could still be alive."

Amedda shrugged noncommittally, "I'm sure she is. It just no longer matters."

"If I could have permission," Tarkin said, "to locate her, it would be most helpful."

"I don't quite follow you."

"It would hasten the project," Tarkin raised an eyebrow, "if my estimations are correct."

Amedda blinked, still not following, but nodded, "anything would help at this point."

* * *

Three days later, at the Geonosis construction site, Tarkin approached Krennic in his office.

"To what do I owe the honor, Governor?" Krennic proffered a tight smile at the Grand Moff's presence. It was quite unusual that Tarkin should come to him and Krennic was immediately on his guard.

"I know that the loss of your top researcher has been the thorn in this project's side," Tarkin started immediately, "His recovery is crucial to our success."

"I couldn't agree with you more," Krennic quietly seethed.

"I therefore propose a mission for you."

It took all of Krennic's willpower not to allow his eyes to roll to the back of his head.

"While I stay and tend to things here," Tarkin said slowly, "you should go out and search for Erso."

"I've been tracking his possible whereabouts already." Krennic clipped.

"Indeed you have," Tarkin agreed, "but you could devote all of your energies to it."

Krennic thought a moment. To be the one to bring home the prize that would restart the super weapon research might just be the ticket he needed for an upward rise—and Tarkin's downfall. And of course, he'd be the most effective at it, given the connection he and Galen had. Tarkin watched as the cogs turned in his head—if he could push Krennic out of the way _and_ get the researcher back into place, it would be a double victory.

"All right then." Krennic said.

"Good." Tarkin gave him something resembling a smile. "And I have the utmost confidence that you will accomplish that task because…"

Tarkin paused for effect as he watched Krennic's eyes bore into him as the Director waited for him to continue.

"…If you don't," he began again, "she dies."

Krennic huffed out a weak laugh, "Forgive me but—what?"

"You know whom I mean." Tarkin's even tone stirred feeling into Krennic and he resented it, "Don't pretend to be flippant. I'm talking about your _other_ failed project."

Krennic's mouth formed into a bitter scowl, "How do you even know she's not already dead?"

"She's not." Tarkin said simply, having used his connections over the past few days to send out a vast search. He hadn't come up with her physically, but there had been enough evidence that pointed to her still being alive.

Krennic narrowed his eyes for a moment before glancing away in a display of indifference. Tarkin didn't seem to be lying.

"Why would her death matter to me, then?"

Tarkin's mouth curved into an incredulous if not immensely satisfied smile, "Because Mon Mothma is your true weakness."

Krennic hadn't heard her name uttered in three years. If he'd ever thought of Mon (which was truly rare), it was only ever in his mind as _her._ He was silent.

"Do I make these terms clear?" Tarkin inquired.

"It's impossible to even know where she is—"

"Not impossible at all." Tarkin countered offhandedly, "She's not a threat but she is valuable—to you."

"I believe there must be a misunderstanding—"

"There is none—"

"—Whoever gave you this information—"

"The person who ultimately _gave_ the information," Tarkin said, "was _you._ So listen, find your researcher and get to work."

With that, Tarkin left him alone and in shock. It was done: he had to find Galen Erso—at any cost.

* * *

Krennic grimaced at the drink that had been set before him. Mos Eisley had been an inhospitable and wild place. But, in his journeys looking for Galen, the planet was nothing he couldn't handle.

He was thankful for these trips; returning to Coruscant always brought back reminders of the failures he'd racked up in the past few years. Searching for Galen was a result of one of those failures, but at least it kept him busy. But there was only so much he could do without the crystal research. It was in this state of limbo that he'd found himself at the cantina. Once he had Galen back, Tarkin would hold now power over him.

So wrapped up he had been in these affairs that he had no time for any other activities or thoughts. It ended up forcing him to think of Mon and so the emptiness he'd felt over the past three years had morphed swiftly into anger towards her. Coupled with his repeated dead ends in the search for Galen, he grew to become accustomed to exchanging one major discomfort for another.

He gulped down the bitter drink as he sat at the bar, waiting for his contact that he already had figured would not show up. He'd had meetings like this one with various opportunists looking to make some cash by being local eyes, but sometimes they wouldn't show. Of course, it was always for a variety of reasons—but all rooted in one thing: fear of the Empire. This gun-shy nature of field operatives made the process in searching for Galen arduous.

The establishment was crowded and overwhelmingly grungy and loud. A variety of unsavory characters shuffled around him and he cringed every time they swept against his cape—it took a lot of work to protect it from the great unwashed. It _still_ had the odd smudge of Geonosian dust on the hems.

These patrons of the bar were no doubt engaging in a slew of illegal activities, but Krennic had grown used to surrounding himself with these types in order to achieve his ends. He took another sip and grimaced again. Not exactly the vintage reserves he usually imbibed.

He gazed at his surroundings as a brush of his elbow ensured his blaster was ready to go at any unusual sidelong glance, though he'd never fired it before. The mass of beings around him, pushing and shoving each other to get closer to the alcohol, were communicating in a million different tongues. Some were smugglers striking deals, some were ex-child soldiers of the Confederacy looking to pick pockets. All were stinking of several different acrid smells, and all were clothed in browns and greys and blacks, like they'd rolled in mud and then went directly into a violent sandstorm.

One particularly loud young boy, brown-haired and tan, had a boisterous laugh and a set of eyes that seemed to challenge everything he saw. He sat in one of the far booths at the end of the room. Krennic watched, slightly amused, as the boy stretched back toward the adjacent booth. His hand, which was low to the ground, felt backward for a hanging drawstring purse. His fingers almost clutched it when, much to his surprised dismay, the owner of the purse took his wrist in a vice grip. The boy, quick to cover, jumped up and made up a line about the purse being in danger of falling on the floor.

Krennic allowed a small smile as he watched the scene. The owner, clad in cream robes with a scarf on her head, stood swiftly and silently. She seemed like a brilliant white kyber emerging from the brown, drab earth around her.

A kyber crystal.

Krennic felt his breath catch in his throat and stay there, lodged like a seed. He forced himself to inhale the fetid air of the cantina and the cacophony of smells seemed a bizarre foil for such an ethereal vision. He watched as she grabbed the boy by the collar, uttered a quiet reprimand, and then glided out of the cantina.

Did this bitter draught have hallucinogenic properties?

As if led by a magnet, he threw a coin onto the counter and followed her out but was encumbered by the crowds and soon lost sight of her. He then questioned himself as to whether or not it could truly be her—it seemed too unbelievable. The galaxy was far too vast.

Still, he scoured the streets. He edged his way through the marketplace and its booths, past the trading square and the loud hawkers peddling cheap goods. Krennic caught sight of the hem of her robe as she turned a corner ahead of him. He decided that he could cut her off at the main thoroughfare and made a quick turn.

Krennic raced down the alleyway, even more crowded with vendors than the street had been, and darted down a terraced passage. He emerged onto the street, but she was not there; a feeling of disquietude pricked at him, as he realized she'd grown savvy in her movements. He crossed another lane and made it around to the square.

And there, he saw her.

Through the dull throng, she seemed to glow. She stood at a peddler stand in profile; he observed her aquiline nose, her cropped red hair—now more tamed than when she'd chopped it that night.

 _That night._

Krennic hadn't realized he'd been frozen staring in the crowd. It was as if she'd felt his electric blue gaze enveloping her. How else could she have so suddenly turned to face him? And there they stood, several yards from each other, two spots of white in the mass of beings from all over the galaxy.

Her eyes were still as bright and as verdant as they ever were and now they fixed on him. He stared back at her, unmoving. She took a deep breath and slightly jerked her head in the direction of a secluded alley. She then moved toward it, her gaze not leaving his. It was as if her green eyes had power over him and he followed her.

He inwardly fought with himself as he trailed her and tried in vain to decipher the tangle of emotions within him. Krennic made a choice in a show of impromptu dominance and pulled the blaster from its holster. For a moment he'd wanted to pull the trigger; _she'd_ put him in this terrible position. _She_ was the one who had morphed into his weakness and he could end it all there in the dusty Mos Eisley alleyway, free to move on with his life.

He rushed up to her so that the barrel made contact with her back. At the same time, he grasped her upper arm with his free hand. He felt her body tense at his touch and saw her hands rise in response. He steered her into the dark alley and it was there, in that darkness, that he looked at that the garment that was between her and the barrel of his gun. His heart leapt, much to his horror.

How could he not have seen it before?

"Our paths intersect, _Director_." She uttered softly.

How had she known of his promotion? The transmissions had been so carefully scrambled—apparently another fire for him to put out.

His grip on her tightened and he extracted a disproportionate amount of pleasure in response to hearing her wince. Krennic stepped closer and turned her to him. Her green eyes flashed as he studied her face. The freckles that splayed across her skin indicated that she must've been somewhere where the sun had been plentiful. He frantically rattled off a list of possible planets she could've inhabited as he pressed her to the wall and trained the blaster to her sternum. With a firm, gentle hand, she pushed it away. She gazed at him and with that gaze, came a flood of memories: the bitterness, the resentment, the hurt, the damage—and the subsequent emptiness. He hated all of it.

"You look well." She had the gall to say.

A peculiar mix of rancor and relief coursed through him as he stared at her: she was alive.

"Are you here to return me to Coruscant or simply to dispatch me?"

In spite of her glib tone, her eyes searched—ransacked—his for an answer.

"No words for me, then?"

Krennic suddenly fought the urge to backhand her. Rebelling had brought out a smooth quiet insolence in her and he did not find it amusing in the least.

"You're alive." His voice was low, raspy—not at all what he had hoped it would sound like.

"Surprised?"

He shrugged reticently as he glanced away, "…I wouldn't say that."

"You're relieved."

There was so much latent anger toward her underneath the layers of emptiness that he'd built up over the past three years that it was difficult to articulate exactly _what_ emotion was currently assaulting him, but her assessment wasn't wrong.

He paused and then ultimately gave in, "I am."

She gave him the smallest of smiles, a smile that immediately indicated she hadn't turned her lips in that way for a long time. Mon then brushed her hand along his face and held it at his cheek. A few tears escaped from the corners of her eyes. It seemed evident that she hadn't done that in a long time, either.

Mon leaned into him and pressed her face against the crook of his neck. Her sudden closeness jolted him as if he'd been underwater and at last had found a way to come up and gasp for air. He felt one hand slide its way around her waist and pull her body toward him. Soon, they were in a tight embrace against the wall.

Krennic holstered the blaster and wrapped his other arm around her. He entertained the paradoxical thought of wanting to protect her but also wanting to silence her forever. After inhaling the sweet—but markedly different—scent of her hair, he leaned down and his lips found hers. At first she resisted, but then welcomed the kiss after he held her in place against the cool, hard rock.

The kiss was slow at first, but then it grew hurried, even desperate. Mon's lips were like water quenching an insatiable thirst. He knew, though, that the water would soon be poisoned if he continued and pulled himself away.

Mon took a moment to assess his face. She traced her fingertips on the sprouts of silver at his temples. She smiled wearily and rubbed her thumbs across the hair.

"These are new." She whispered.

 _No thanks to you_ , he thought.

She guided his forehead to hers. "Stay safe, will you?"

Mon pressed her lips firmly to his and, without meeting his gaze, turned and started out of the alley. He dashed after her and caught her wrist. Krennic then stepped between her and the street.

"Where have you been?" He asked softly.

She smiled again, but this time it was sorrowful.

"I'm sure you've already run through a list of possible planets in your head," she slipped by him but turned to face him once she was in the street. The back of her hand shielded her light eyes from the desert sun.

She observed a reddish dust smudge on his belt. It was a color that could only have come from Geonosis. At least she now knew where _he_ had been.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

A/N: Thanks for all the love! Anyroad, here's another chapter, possums!

* * *

BBY: 13

Krennic inhaled deeply. In a matter of hours, Galen was back and the wife was no longer a threat. The work could finally continue unfettered. For the first time in five years, Krennic permitted himself to feel relief. Lyra's death didn't bother him in the slightest and he wasn't even startled by that realization. If he couldn't find happiness, why should Galen be allowed to have it? They would both be free to focus on the work now, or at least that's what he thought.

After giving orders to his aides to set up funeral arrangements for Galen's wife, Krennic retreated to his office to update the schedule and alert Amedda to Galen's return. He almost had forgotten his shoulder until Oyanta, his assistant, pointed it out.

"Sir," he said haltingly, "your arm—"

"Yes, yes," Krennic replied, as he quickly reviewed options for the best location for the new research facility. Lyra's final attempt at revenge would not slow him down. "Leave me."

The assistant bowed his head uncertainly and slipped out the door, his eyes fixed on the growing red blotch on his superior's tunic.

In light of Galen's return, Krennic almost felt giddy. He stared at the holonet screen and surveyed the newest updates regarding the battle station. Now the weapon work could resume—he had been successful in his search for Galen and the glory of it would be his. After a moment of triumph, Krennic also let his mind dwell on another thought: was she safe? Now that Galen would be back working, Krennic would have more time—more time dedicated to finding her? Ensuring that she was at least alive?

Every now and then there would be rumors. The rumors were almost always unfounded, but still, they circulated. They would float through the ranks of various imperial officials, but nothing ever came of them. Krennic was never one for gossip, as it seemed like a waste of time, but now he listened. He chewed over each fragment of information he overheard, whatever they were.

The chatter before meetings about trade routes in the Outer Rim being commandeered by rebel cells. Whispers about burglary of imperial ships and supplies stolen. Skirmishes with unknown star ships. Krennic could not fathom that she would be involved with people and actions such as those because she had always been so pure to him, so ethereal, but he had supposed that at this point anything had been possible.

On the rare occasion that he would find himself alone and having had too much to drink, Krennic would journey down a dark path of reviewing their last meeting together on Mos Eisley. He would replay the whole event in his mind over and over, like a punishment for a crime committed: her freckled skin, making him compile that same tired list of sunny planets that she might inhabit, the deft way she alluded him as she coursed through the maze of streets, the feel of her soft, smooth lips on his, the way her supple body pressed against his as they kissed, and the way she had turned back to him once, her green eyes sparkling, before finally disappearing into the crowd.

There was no indicator during that chance meeting that told him she was engaging in any type of rebellious or illegal activity. He thought of several different reasons as to why she was on that planet to begin with, but Mos Eisley was a crossroads for a myriad of reasons—everyone went there when they were in need of something. For her, it could be anything.

Although he took extreme care not to engage in the gossip, he always listened specifically for names. But hers never came up—and he was painstakingly cautious about not uttering the name so as not to draw attention to her or himself. In fact, the only time he had heard her name spoken was by Tarkin—and that was already three years ago. He did not want to entertain the idea that it was the Grand Moff who was the only person in the galaxy who knew where she might be hiding.

His head spun as he grappled with the idea of enlisting a trusted underling to run a search in the intelligence databases on her (he of course would never do it on his own device). He thought of her name again, the name that he had forced down inside of him. The name that he had uttered again and again as he pathetically begged her to stay, the name that held a thousand memories for him. The name that he was now growing to loathe because it symbolized his weakness—even though he longed for it to hum across his lips. The name that was put on the list of the galaxy's most wanted last year—in spite of there being no word about her at all. He found it odd that she would be put on the same list as Saw Gerrera, someone whose reputation for rebellion was now well-known. Perhaps it _was_ time to do a little more research.

Or perhaps it was merely a waste of time. He had wasted enough. Especially when it came to _her_.

Krennic felt light-headed and ill. It seemed as if his very body rejected the thought of her. He blinked to clear his vision and cursed under his breath. Why waste time—mental energy—thinking of her? There was no way of finding her because she was lost to the far reaches of the galaxy. If he did succeed, what would be next?

As he tried to blink away the creeping grey shadows from his periphery, Krennic glanced down at his tunic: a red spot was spreading rapidly across his shoulder. He moved to brush his fingers across it but found his arm too heavy to lift. He blinked again as his vision blurred.

Then, she appeared before him, unwelcome and unexpected, before everything went black.

* * *

"Orson," her voice was muffled in his ear.

His eyes opened slowly and he was met with a white room. He glanced around with a small swivel of his head: he was lying supine on a bed, propped up by some sterile looking pillows. The rest of the room was bare and the bright light stung his eyes. His tunic was gone and a large bandage had been wrapped around his left shoulder. He began to remember what had happened, and he reached to touch the bandage.

He squeezed his eyes shut as a burst of pain shot through his shoulder. When his eyes opened again, she was there, gazing at him. Dressed in brilliant white, she melded into the color of the room, and her green eyes struck him with a look of contagious placidity. Her red hair was still cropped—she still hadn't let it grow out after all these years. Her hand rested on his and pulled it back from the wound.

"Rest," she said in soothing voice.

He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came forth. He then tried to lay his hand on hers, but his injury stopped him.

"You must rest now," she said and it was then that he realized she was sitting on the bed beside him, the warmth from her body radiating to his. She then leaned toward him and he felt her hand land on his collarbone. Her thumb rubbed back and forth across his skin. Krennic closed his eyes at the touch and then felt her other hand move to his temple, the tips of her elegant fingers sliding gently through his hair. He blinked, not wanting to miss any time with her. He knew it was limited.

"Are you safe?" He heard his voice ask her.

She nodded and her fingernails gingerly grazed his scalp. He was tempted to close his eyes again. He felt her slide closer to him as she continued to caress his hair and he blinked drowsily, thoroughly comforted by her touch. With his eyes shut again, he felt her lips brush his brow, then his cheekbone, then his chin and finally his mouth.

Krennic's eyes shot open and he saw the bare white ceiling before him, its light shining down on him, causing him to squint. Through his compromised vision, he glanced around the room and realized he was alone. He attempted to sit up, but a searing pain in his shoulder sent him straight back onto the pillow with a strangled groan.

The door slid open and an attendant came in.

"Awake, I see, sir." The attendant commented as he checked Krennic's vitals. "That blaster shot nicked an artery. You're lucky you got to us in time."

"Got…to you?" Krennic winced as the pain started to dull.

"Yes," the attendant took a quick look at the dressing and seemed satisfied. "You lost consciousness from blood loss. Your assistant found you and brought you here."

"Where is—she?" He didn't want to utter her name aloud.

"Who?"

"She was here, just now."

"I assure you, Director," the attendant furrowed his brow slightly, "there was no one in here until I came in."

Krennic fought against a heavy, empty feeling in his chest. He closed his eyes for a moment and tried to conjure the timbre of her voice. It was getting harder and harder to recall.

"And I came in because I received the alert," the attendant indicated a device next to the bed, "that you had awakened."

An hour later, Amedda and Tarkin slipped in and Krennic was aghast; the very last thing he wanted was them to see him like this. He held onto one shred of hope that maybe the blaster shot to the shoulder would win him some credibility.

"So it seems the project is back on track?" Amedda asked, standing at the foot of the bed, facing Krennic. Tarkin was just behind Amedda's right shoulder, lurking silently. The Grand Moff's thin mouth seemed to threaten to pull into a smug smirk.

"The project is, yes, Vizier."

"Glad to hear it," Amedda responded, "I shall report it immediately to the Emperor."

"Please, sir, if you would allow me to—" Krennic began.

Amedda raised one hand and Krennic fell silent, "In your condition? I think not. Leave it to me, Director. The Emperor need not know of these" –he jerked his head toward the wound—"personal mishaps."

Before Krennic could protest further Amedda quickly nodded a goodbye, clearly done with the interaction, and left. Tarkin lingered. Krennic scowled at him, and his shoulder began to throb.

"It seems that congratulations are in order, Director," Tarkin purred, all but engaging in a sarcastic slow clap, "you've met your objective. I've been keeping track of your journeys. When you put your mind to it, you're really quite effective."

Krennic ground his teeth together as he stared at the Grand Moff. "I'd say the same for you, Governor."

"And you're probably wondering…" Tarkin trailed off for a moment as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, making a show of reticence, "...about her."

"Erso is back," Krennic countered, "the superweapon is my focus."

"Well," Tarkin laid his hands on the foot board of the bed as if he were leaning up against a strategy table in a situation room, "that is how it _should_ be, isn't it? But let's keep things going, shall we? You keep Erso on track, you demonstrate marked progress on the project—you have nothing to worry about. If things get off track again, then..."

He shrugged and lazily rolled his eyes.

"...Then maybe she won't stay as safe as she has been these past few years."

Krennic maintained a stony, bored look, which betrayed neither interest nor anger at Tarkin's ultimatum. He trained his gaze so steadily that it made Tarkin take a momentary pause, a quick second thought, about what he was trying to accomplish by dangling Mon Mothma in front of Krennic like a threat. The Grand Moff decided it was time to leave.

"Tread carefully, Director." He said before slipping out through the door.

* * *

Mon sat by the open window at the base, which overlooked the jungle. Her eyes were trained on a bird with bright plumage that was sitting on a tree branch. A pile of work sat on the desk behind her. She had stopped listening to Draven three minutes ago.

"Mon, you can't do this." He said.

As she stared at the bird, she wondered if Draven had truly been the best choice for the Alliance. And then she admitted that he had been the only choice.

"I can do it."

"But—"

"There is no one else." She rose and faced him. "We can't rely on Saw to do it. He's too volatile."

Davits Draven crossed his arms, unsatisfied. "You know you're going straight into the heart—"

"I know exactly what I'm doing," she countered. "I just need to get to Geonosis then I can handle it from there."

"Then I'm coming with you." He came around her desk and put himself in front of her, as if to stop her from leaving alone. "I'll get a whole squad together."

Mon paused for a moment and searched his eyes. She looked back into the jungle, expecting to find the bird, but it had flown out of the valley. She turned back to Draven.

"Fine, then. But you cannot interfere—especially if things go wrong."

"And Orson Krennic will eviscerate you for even stepping foot—"

"I'm not worried about him."


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

BBY: 12

Krennic stared at the blueprints, as he had done absently for the past fifteen minutes. He was prone to pauses such as these; the pain in his shoulder would cripple him periodically throughout the day. He had not taken the time to recuperate and relied on pain medication to dull any feeling—which worked in more ways than one—but he had ultimately found that when the pain dissipated, it took his wits with it. He could not gamble with that, especially now that Tarkin had taken to embarking on regular but unannounced trips to Geonosis to check in on him. So his shoulder, unhealed and throbbing, paralyzed him every now and then. He had grown used to it, as he had grown used to every other discomfort that plagued him. He came to rely on the pain because without it, he would feel nothing.

The alarm went off in the hangar. Krennic refocused on the documents before him.

"Director Krennic," an aide appeared in the doorway of his office and waited for permission to continue.

"What is it?" He asked in a flat voice, not bothering to lift his eyes from his work.

"You'll need to come to the hangar, sir," the aide said.

"Why?" Krennic asked, knowing that any interruption usually ended up being a waste of his time.

"A rebel spy, sir—found just outside the compound."

"Past the defenses?" The assistant now had Krennic's full attention and he nodded with wide eyes.

Krennic dashed down the hall quickly, putting on his gloves as he went. With the assistant at his heels, he bolted through the door and started to descend the stairwell that led to the hangar. Upon reaching the final staircase landing, Krennic observed a squad of his death troopers in a circular formation with their guns drawn. Their stance was so tightly knit together that he could not quite see the unlucky creature they surrounded, no doubt kneeling and quaking in his worn out boots.

 _Rebel scum._

He descended the metal stairs slowly, careful to make sure that the soles of his boots clamored stridently against each metal step, signaling both his arrival and the intruder's impending demise. The sound echoed through the cavernous space.

Krennic had come to take a modicum of enjoyment in those occasional rebel encounters; every now and then the Imperial ships would use the Special Weapons site as a stopover on the way to the Mid Rim. Sometimes they would have entire cells of dissidents with them, not wanting to wait for them to stand trial at a Coruscanti Imperial Court. Krennic had no true jurisdiction over them, but during these occasions he usually found himself to be the highest-ranking officer until and therefore the one to make the decisions. Though it took him away from the project, it was an entertaining break from the doldrums of Geonosian isolation. He had a speech that he would give, a spiel to recite as an amusement for himself, to prolong the unpleasantness for the unfortunate prisoner.

"Ah yes," he began histrionically, "And what do we have here? More vermin to be exterminated?"

He approached the circle of troopers and with a small wave of his hand, he dismissed them. They jogged off in unison from the huddled figure. Now Krennic could observe the wretch without any obstruction. It was kneeling with its head down near the ground. Its wrists were shackled. The figured was clothed in shabby black garments: simple boots, trousers and a jacket with the hood up. He had seen this type many times before. Krennic began to circle from behind.

"A foolish choice," he continued as he strolled, "to come here. You will now be sent to Coruscant to stand trial as a traitor if you are cooperative. If you are not, you will stay here and I will dole out—"

He completed the circle and as he did, the figure raised its head to him. Krennic felt bile rise in his throat as his gaze met a pair of verdant eyes. This time her sun-kissed skin was marred by what would become a bruise on her cheekbone. The Death Troopers, it seemed, had restrained themselves. Her breathing was labored; perhaps they had cracked a rib.

It was then that Krennic was attacked by a sudden, uncontrollable fury. He leaped toward her, roughly grabbed her elbow, and dragged her to the air control office—not the usual place that spies were taken to, but he was barely thinking. He shouted an order at the operator to leave. Once they were alone, he released her with a shove and she stumbled a few paces away, her back to him. Krennic rolled his shoulder from the strain. He stood in silence, staring at her slumped form for a moment. He had always stupidly entertained fleeting thoughts about this very type of scenario, but the database runs had never pointed to this ever actually happening. The shock of it all, however, was starting to wear off.

"Why are you here?" He growled finally.

There was no answer.

"Why are you here?" He demanded again, as if those were the only words on his mind.

Mon turned to him slowly and removed her hood. Krennic noted immediately that the shape of her face had changed, but he could not quite figure out how. It was somehow fuller, and she seemed to carry an inner glow. Much to his dismay, she looked gorgeous.

"It's good to see you." She said, and Orson smirked.

"What are you doing here?" He asked plainly.

"Spying." She replied, then uttered a hollow laugh, "and not doing a very good job, it seems."

"There have been rumors." Krennic said immediately.

"About?"

"Rebel cells consolidating in the Outer Rim."

She shrugged, "You are free to make assumptions, I suppose."

"You know," he took one step toward her, but no further, "You're going to be executed because of this, right?"

"Orson—"

He found himself trembling: "Espionage is punishable by death."

"Please, take these off?" She held her hands out to him.

After a moment of silent thought, he did so. It didn't matter; she was already dead in the eyes of the Empire now. She rubbed her wrists and laughed softly to herself. "I—I was almost looking forward to seeing you."

Another pause. Against all of his control, his heart began to race in his chest as he looked at her.

"Why?" He spat, "So you could remind me yet again of how much I loathe you?"

Her calm demeanor was briefly interrupted by a look of surprise and then she recovered with a wry, if not sad, smile. "Hm. You were always such a _good_ liar."

And with that comment, Krennic lurched toward her and wrapped his gloved hand around her neck as he pushed her against the wall.

"Do you have any idea— _any idea_ —of what I've been through these past years?"

"Enlighten me." She said, pretending his grip didn't bother her.

"They've found out about _you._ "

She furrowed her brow.

"Yes," Krennic continued, his face plastered with a look of unmitigated disdain, "and they've used you as a threat against me. Apparently, you are my weakness now. And they know it. I've kept you alive these past four years. I've worked, I've scoured the galaxy so that my project could continue but also so that you could keep breathing."

He squeezed hard. She fought against it.

"I must be insane," he seemed to look through her eyes as he spoke, "to have agreed to that ultimatum. Because what I've realized is that you have caused me nothing but unnecessary anguish. I've given so much to you and I always received nothing in return. And I continue to receive nothing. So tell me why I shouldn't finish this tonight."

Mon said nothing, but she tried to wrench herself free from his grip. As her body strained against his force, her jacket fell open, revealing her shirt. Krennic watched her writhe as the garment was pulled tight against the growing curve of her abdomen. His memory assaulted him with the image of the Ri-ekian terrorist who held Mon's neck in a vise grip and the lie that she told that had stunned everyone.

He was the terrorist now. Or maybe it was she.

But he could not tear his gaze away from her body. His hand released her neck slowly. She composed herself as he took a few steps away from her, as if propelled by her condition. Krennic shook his head, his eyes still on the small curve. Mon took a breath, in preparation to explain, but he put his hand up and turned from her. Krennic stood there, with his back to her for a few minutes, thinking he needed time to process what had just been revealed to him. But it seemed his mind was unable to make sense of any of it. He turned back to her, finally ready to search for an explanation.

Mon's mouth contorted against a sob; what was she to say? The past six years of her life had been a dizzying blur as she worked to cobble together an alliance. When she was not in hiding, she was on the run. It was clear to her a long time ago that comfort would be hard to come by. How could she explain to Orson the void that was filled in her life when Draven deflected six months ago?

"Do you love him?" Orson asked as he held onto his shoulder. It had begun to throb in pain.

"What?" She shook her head, as if coming out of a deep sleep. Her neck ached.

"Do you love him?" He indicated her abdomen.

"What type of a question is—"

"A fair one, given the circumstances." He hissed.

"No."

"No...?"

"No, I don't love him."

"Then why..." Krennic's words came forth without his permission.

"It was not planned."

It was now clear to him why her face changed—why she seemed to glow. But now with this, he had never felt further from her. This seemed to be another addition to their long list of endings. He pinched the bridge of his nose and slammed his eyes closed, trying to make sense of his thoughts while ignoring the devastation creeping around him.

Suddenly there was a commotion in the hangar.

"I want to make one thing clear—" She started fiercely, ignoring the noise.

"Don't." He commanded, "Don't speak."

"Orson," she continued, failing to heed his warning, "I want you to know that whatever happens—"

"Stop!" He roared at her. After half a moment, he then went back to his script. "You've made a poor decision coming here today."

He pulled the blaster from its holster and trained it on her.

"Orson, please don't do this."

Krennic took a few steps so that he was positioned behind her. His free arm slid over her shoulder and down her chest as he clasped her close to him, so close that the heat from her body threatened to intoxicate him. She grimaced, knowing he was so far out of his element. He moved her out of the air control office and into the chaos of the hangar. Krennic then repositioned the blaster to her shoulder blade, without having a clear idea of his next move. She waited as he led her closer to the fight, feeling his breath fall in heavy intervals against her cheek.

They observed a fire fight between his Death Troopers and what only could have been Mon's reinforcements who were strategically placed behind a variety of different star ships; the two impromptu belligerents were engaged in a heavy volley of laser blasts. When one rebel at the front of the squad noticed Mon, Krennic realized that his face looked familiar, but he could not place it. He watched the man signal to her. With Krennic momentarily distracted, Mon tried to make a run for it, but he grasped her by the elbow. They struggled against each other as he grabbed her other arm. She had grown stronger since the last time he had restrained her and Krennic, encumbered by his shoulder, could not hold onto her. Mon wrenched herself free from his clutches and with one swift movement, lodged her elbow into his injured shoulder. Reeling from the hot bolt of pain, Orson loosened his grasp on the weapon, allowing Mon to hit the bottom of its grip completely out of his hand with her fist. The jolt sent the blaster spinning into the air and Mon caught it as it fell. She aimed the weapon at Orson and they both froze.

Behind them, the chaos was growing, but only for the rebels. The man Krennic noticed before signaled again to Mon, this time, it seemed, to escape. Krennic, with his hands raised lazily, smirked at the action. He observed as she waved her hand back toward her accomplice. The wave was received with no small amount of frustration, but the others lobbed one grenade into the center of the Death Trooper squadron and before several could scatter, the device went off with a sharp explosion of black smoke.

When the smoke dissipated, the rebels had vanished. The searchlights outside the hangar switched on and another alarm sounded. The handful of troopers who had escaped the grenade now headed for Mon, who still had Orson's blaster focused on him. Krennic commanded them to halt as they surrounded her and they did so.

"Disarm her." He ordered and one trooper stepped forward and threw the butt of his gun into her back. With a cry of pain, she dropped the blaster and fell sharply to her knees. Krennic picked it up and reholstered it. He then put out his hand to another trooper who provided him with a pair of shackles. Without a word he clasped them around her wrists. The troopers then moved to take her to the brig, but he stopped them with a raise of his hand. Krennic demanded that she be searched and Mon watched him from her low vantage point as he regarded her with a stony, cold glare as two Death Troopers ran their hands all over her body. She could not tell if this were a false display of power or something else entirely.

Having found nothing, he approached her roughly and pulled her to her feet. Krennic then led her to the small cell they kept for prisoners. Mon cursed to herself: Draven had not followed her orders. Now, instead of having the upper hand, she would be imprisoned. He had just made things needlessly more complicated. She vowed to herself that when she got out—and she was certain she would—that she would remind him of the chain of command. Krennic shoved her into the cell, but the shove had an uncertainty to it, Mon noted. A hesitation. She turned back to the door, expecting it to slam closed in her face. But he stood there, regarding her silently. She could not read his face. She estimated it was somewhere between wanting to strangle her then and there and wanting to take her into his arms and keep her safe forever.

Mon felt a similar emotion.

"Why have you done this to yourself?" He demanded. "You don't need to be involved with this."

"I became involved the moment I allowed you to use my planet to further your research for your super weapon. This is my fight now."

" _That's_ what this is about?" He hissed, stepping into the cell a little.

"You've been a lodestar, Orson," she sighed. "You've steered me toward this."

He was silent. She winced suddenly and held her stomach. His heart caught in his throat and he watched her move back toward the cot and sit down. She took a few deep, slow breaths and relaxed. He shifted awkwardly as he watched her lean against the wall and close her eyes. Perhaps, she thought, doing this mission while four months pregnant was not the best of ideas, but at this point, the rebellion seemed to be on life support and things had reached a breaking point.

When she opened her eyes again, Krennic had moved all the way into the cell and the door was now closed.

"You know," he spoke suddenly, "when you said that it would be much easier to never form any attachments?"

She sighed in response.

"You were right."

Mon shut her eyes again and laid the back of her head against the wall. "Has he been called yet?"

"Who?"

Her eyes were still closed. "Thrawn."

He was a little surprised. "Not yet."

"Are you going to call him?"

"I am."

"Well," she said, "before you do, come sit awhile."

He had been longing to quench this thirst for years. And so he sat. But as he sat, he fought against an undeniable hatred for her. He knew exactly why he felt that way and could cite a litany of specific reasons for it, but still, he sat. A silence developed between them and he realized he could not look at her. Whether it was out of extreme hatred or love, he did not know because he could no longer tell the difference between the two.

"Where have you been?" The question had been asked before, but he figured he might give it another shot.

"You know I cannot tell you that." She said, then after a pause, "I've missed you."

He stared straight ahead. Was this a trick?

"I really have." Her voice grew unsteady. "Orson, I just want you to—"

"Don't—" He attempted to stop her.

"No," she said, "let me finish. Please."

He relented and trained his gaze at the floor.

"Whatever happens," she took a breath, "whatever I must do—out there—it will never change the way I feel about you."

He smirked and shook his head.

"I love you, Orson, and you've always known it."

He said nothing.

"And no response?" She whispered.

"What would you like me to say?" He growled, "How I feel?"

She frowned, holding in tears.

"Because I _feel_ like I've had a wound for seven years that won't heal."

Mon squeezed her eyes shut, feeling that same sensation she had felt that night when she had asked him to run away: helplessness.

"So you're going to continue with this... insanity?" He spat.

"As long as you continue with yours."

Her words made him boil. Krennic stormed out of the cell, letting the door slam like an echo of thunder behind him. Once he was gone, Mon pulled the old comlink from a compartment in her boot heel.

He walked down the hall a few feet, stopped, turned back, went back to the door, paused, and then turned back again, his pace quickening as he resolved himself of his decision. Soon he was back upstairs in his office, and his finger hovered over the transmission button, ready to send a message to Thrawn—to notify him of the ultimate prize. An image sparked into his mind; he would be eternally lauded for capturing her.

But there was a more pressing thought to grapple with: the consequences if he chose not to contact Thrawn. The aftermath would destroy everything. If he chose to release her, he would be forever ruined.

He pressed the transmission button and sent a voice message to Thrawn's outpost, alerting him of the capture of a rebel spy. Krennic lifted his finger from the button. It was done. He took a breath as he realized that the next step in this loathsome process would be to go back downstairs and tell her what would now happen. Krennic fabricated a false sense of confidence as he told himself that he had the power to dictate their treatment of her, especially given her condition. Maybe he did.

So with heavy steps, he descended back to the cell. As he walked down the corridor, his pace slowed as the guilt began to set in. He wanted to hold her, to smuggle her away, but it was too late; once the message got to him, Thrawn would be on his way. Krennic knew she would never forgive him, but he wanted it that way. He wanted her far away. If she ended up on Wobani, he would know where she was, at least. And he would know that their paths would never cross. She would no longer be the wound he would be forced to bear. He would be free from her, and the power she held over him.

Krennic signaled for the cell door to open. He kept his eyes on the floor as he walked in, frantically thinking of how to start. Steeling himself with a deep breath, he raised his head to meet her green eyes. And when he did, he was met with an empty room.

An empty room with a small blast hole through the clerestory window.


	20. Chapter 20

A/N: Thank you so much for reading and for your patience. I know it's been two months since I've updated. Hopefully you'll forgive me and my crazy life. Here's a little snippet I promised earlier this week on tumblr. I hope to get more out over next weekend. AS USUAL, thanks for reading and reviewing, my dear possums! As I've mentioned in earlier chapters, this story is deviating slightly from canon—just a warning!

* * *

Mon kept running in the night. This isolated planet had no moon and a thick atmosphere, making it nearly impossible to see anything as she ran. Soon a random blaster beam lit her way toward the hidden getaway ship. Her breath came in labored gasps as the beams increased; her condition made it increasingly difficult to keep the required pace. Without warning, she felt a hand clasp around her bicep. Draven appeared beside her, frantic.

"Are you hurt?" He demanded as others formed a blaster shield around them as they ran.

"No," she heaved, "I don't think so….but… I'm so tired.."

Without another word, Mon swooned and her eyes fluttered closed. Just before she tumbled to the rocks upon which she ran, Draven caught her. Then, there was darkness.

* * *

Orson stared at the gaping, splintered hole for a long moment— perhaps too long. As his gaze bore into the break in the window, his breathing grew sharp and rapid. He wrestled for control as he exhaled through his nose. He was dismayed to realize that there was a trembling inside of him. Its very presence meant that she still had a hold over him. And he loathed it. Even after so many years and so much change, he could still feel her smooth alabaster hands seemingly creeping around his neck like a vise. His life, he knew, would never truly be his own. She would be an eternal ghost for him, her memory always lurking in the darkest corners of the Death Star, as it was now clear that she was ardently fighting to dismantle what had become his only reason for living. If he wasn't careful, she would succeed in irrevocably marring the very vision of his creation.

A ghost that would appear and disappear without warning. A ghost that was very much alive and not _only_ alive, but creating life. Suddenly the air in the cell was acrid and Orson could not breathe.

So the Director, with an ugly, dark glint in his eye, turned on his heel, stepped into the hall, and slammed the cell door behind him. He took another breath in order to steady himself but was unsuccessful. It was only then that he sounded the alarm for his Death Troopers to pursue her. He estimated that he had probably given her at least a five minute start—much more than she required.

As he ascended the stairs back to his office a thought suddenly assailed his mind: he realized where he had seen that other rebel who had been motioning to Mon. He had been an intelligence operative who had assisted in the prisoner exchange on Vallt, thus securing the Ersos' safety all those years ago. He had then worked for the Empire. Krennic had not heard of any news of intelligence officers disappearing recently. Of course, if one were to vanish without a trace, that background would be useful.

Davits Draven, his name was.

And now, Mon had him. Obviously in more ways than one, and Krennic seethed with a hot, hateful jealousy at the thought of it. His logic told him to push the idea from his head, but he found himself imagining Draven together with Mon in a union of which Krennic had only ever dreamed. He couldn't articulate it at the time, but this masochistic practice of fantasizing their coupling would periodically assault him over and over until he harnessed the rage into motivation, which would ultimately cause another part of his humanity to shut down, never to return.

Krennic's lip quivered in a certain amount of loathing as he went back up to his office; Thrawn would be arriving soon. And possibly Tarkin as well.

* * *

"You're done." Draven ordered as Mon rested on a small divan in her office.

"No." She replied softly. "That project is my fault."

"How can you say that?"

"I knew about it and I didn't stop it." Mon's eyes remained closed, but there was a quaver in her voice that would not go away, "I had that confidential information. I should have done something years ago. I'm trying to make things right."

"You have to focus on—"

"I _know_ ," Mon cut in, her tone suddenly fiery, "I know. I will rest." She covered her face with her hands before speaking again. "I just—I need to do this."

Draven sighed softly. "I understand." He didn't. But there was no lack of admiration for her. She held her hands against her face and remained silent.

"Take a break, then," Draven suggested, "Stay here and command. Use your resources instead of having to do everything yourself."

"It's what I'm used to."

"What?"

"Doing everything myself."

"You can't anymore. And you shouldn't have to." He said firmly.

Draven softened and sat beside her. Mon didn't move away from him, but she didn't move closer, either. Without another word, he wrapped his arms securely around her and she let him take her into a tight embrace. Mon closed her eyes again, if only to block out the searing image of Orson's bright blue eyes in her mind. Then a sharp pain shot through her torso, causing her to cry out.

"What is it?" Draven implored, "Please, Mon—"

"My rib—"

He lifted her shirt gingerly as she winced. There was a huge purple bruise growing on her left side. She had refused medical treatment on the ship because her body, in shock, had not yet registered the broken rib. Draven called in a medic and Mon didn't protest.

As her wound was tended to, Draven pressed further: "But there's no evidence of the project continuing, is there?"

"No. None that I can find."

"So, no blueprints, no transmissions, nothing?"

"No tangible evidence, no."

"Then why are you so worried?"

"Because I know Orson."

"So do I—"

"Not like I do."

"...What does that mean?"

"We worked closely during the days of the Old Republic." She said tiredly as the medic bandaged her with careful hands. "I know his motivations, maybe better than anyone. He's not to be trusted. And even if there is no physical evidence of the project, it doesn't mean it doesn't exist."

"You're definitely not going to convince the different rebel cells without proof."

"I know." She replied, "But it's there. It's only a matter of time."

* * *

 _Four months later_

Leia raced from the ramp of the ship. Mon smiled and immediately saw Padme in her eyes, like always. The child threw herself into Mon's arms as a greeting, which the woman gratefully accepted.

"Are you ready?" Mon asked her.

"I am!" Leia declared.

"Then go see what surprises are in my office." Mon said.

The child ran off happily.

"She's growing like a weed, Bail." Mon commented as he disembarked from the ship and they entered the command center together.

"Growing in mind and spirit as well," he said with the weariness of a father with a headstrong daughter, "I knew that her intelligence needs to be harnessed. Thank you for agreeing to tutor her."

"Of course!" Mon exclaimed, then she immediately softened, "I'm honored."

Bail nodded silently and uttered under his breath, "I see her mother every time I look at her."

"So do I."

They walked into Mon's office where maps of the galaxy had been set up for the next lesson. A young man around the age of fourteen sat in the corner, huddled over a reading tablet.

"Is this for me?" Leia held up a box with a small bow on it.

"It is." Mon said, "As something of a commemoration for a year of tutelage."

The child tore open the box and held a large tablet aloft, signaling she knew exactly what it was. " _History of Galactic Rebellion, first edition_!" She exclaimed, "I can't wait! Can we start it now?"

"We can start it today, yes," Mon smiled and glanced over at Bail, who also grinned, "but first I want you to meet someone."

Mon signaled to the boy in the corner who laid the tablet down and came over to them.

"Leia, this is Cassian." Mon explained, "He has come to live here on Yavin 4 with me and was recruited by General Draven. He's very important to me and to everyone here. Cassian, this is Princess Leia Organa of Alderaan."

"An honor, Princess."


	21. Chapter 21

A/N: This chapter is a bit Mothma heavy, so if you're only here for Krennic, I am sorry for that! Krenny will be back next chapter in FULL FORCE. FULL. BTW the next chapter, I hope, will rock your socks.

* * *

The fact that Mon could not unite the rebels into one strong alliance continued to eat at her. Just saying that she had an idea about the Empire possibly developing a superweapon was not enough. There was too much distrust in the rebel factions. She needed proof. Being confined to Yavin 4 as a result of her son's birth was bittersweet; it gave her a much needed period to take a break from the general chaos but took time away from the cause.

But it was also during that time, those sleepless nights, that she formulated a plan. It would be a plan that would take years—possibly ten or more—but she was confident that it would secure the unity that she sought.

One of the main components of destroying Orson Krennic's project was gaining the trust of Saw Gerrera. Mon had never met him face to face, but she had exchanged a few short transmissions with him in the early days of her deflection. He had quickly proven to be fickle and unreliable. Their types of rebellion differed so greatly that she had long given up on him. But since that time things had changed: he had made strides in various sectors of the Outer Rim, Ashoka had Fulcrum, and Yavin 4 was growing into a stronghold. Perhaps it was time to revisit his alliance.

Because they were so different, Mon saw it difficult to not see that Gerrerra's tactics edged up against terrorism. But she had come to realize in the recent years that his help was their best shot at survival.

As the pieces of her plan slowly gelled, she thought about Orson more and more. If her plan were to be successful, it would mean ultimate and irrevocable failure for him. When Mon was alone to muse (which was rare) she wracked her brain for different outcomes of this scenario, but the plan always pointed back to Krennic's downfall. She knew she would not only be working against him, but she would be striving to destroy everything he had been working on for the past nine years.

In spite of her strong convictions, this reality affected her greatly. She reminded herself that they never were truly together; their relationship never had time to grow. It was cut off before it could ever bloom. A great emptiness seized her as she thought of that abrupt night on Pekest. And she knew it was because of Orson.

As Mon Mothma watched her son, Jobin, sleeping placidly against the jungle sounds of Yavin 4, she found herself longing for Orson Krennic's touch again. The feeling burned itself firmly into her, threatening to be too much to bear. She closed her eyes tightly, fighting the thoughts, the images, the longings.

She focused on her son's chest as it rose and fell softly in the moonlight. Of course, he raised the stakes immensely: not only did she _need_ to come back alive to be a mother to her child, but she needed to succeed in acquiring the Celestial Power plans. It seemed no one from the inside was deflecting anytime soon so she'd have to be the one to go in. The timing, though, would have to be perfect.

At the close of Leia's tutoring session the next day, she pulled Bail aside.

"Absolutely not," He said without hesitation in response to her plan.

"Bail—"

"Have you told Davits about this idea of yours?"

"Of _course_ not. He'd tie me down."

"With good reason!" Bail said, "Mon, you have Jobin now—"

"All the more cause to fight for freedom," Mon said in a fierce, low voice, "Who are we fighting for, if not for our children?"

Bail took a swift intake of breath. His face did not care to hide his look of exasperation, but then his features softened as he regarded her.

"I miss you in the senate," he admitted, "but Mon, what you're thinking of doing is extremely dangerous. And let's not forget that you had more than a fair amount of trouble getting _off_ Coruscant in the first place. And now you want to go back? And what about the failed mission on Geonosis?"

"This is moving too slowly," Mon countered, "I've been patient for too long. We haven't had any major advancements in years. Sabotaging trade routes and supply lines is one thing, but if I can acquire the plans, it would change everything. Geonosis was botched because of carelessness. I can blend in much better on Coruscant."

"There's no convincing you otherwise," Bail sighed as they watched Cassian lift Leia onto his shoulders and fly her around the disembarkation hangar like a starfighter. Mon lifted an eyebrow in surprise; the boy was usually much more reserved, but he had seemed to have taken a liking to the princess.

"She couldn't stop talking about his lesson on espionage last week." Bail nodded his head toward the boy.

"He did a good job with it. We're all proud of him here. He's come a long way."

"All right then, Mon," Bail beckoned to a giggling Leia as he walked up the ramp into the _Tantive IV_ , "I can't promise you my help, but I'll do what I can."

"Thank you, Bail," she said, "And please, tell no one of this. Any of it."

"As always." He beckoned to Leia again, "All right, sweetheart, we're off."

The child leapt down from Cassian's shoulders with the dexterity of a Jedi and ran onto the ship. She grumbled and disappeared. But only a moment later, her head popped out.

"Thank you, Senator Mothma." She said.

"You're welcome, Leia," Mon smiled and she and Cassian watched together as the ship taxied out of the hangar in preparation for take off.

Cassian glanced at her, once again reticent and stoic. Mon could feel him wanting to speak.

"What is it that you want to say, Cassian?" She asked him without taking her eyes off of the departing ship.

"I can help."

"With?"

"Your mission."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Your secret mission. To Coruscant. To steal plans?"

"What—no—how did you hear?"

Cassian betrayed his pride with a small half smile which disappeared as quickly as it had manifested. His display of childlike antics with the princess had allowed him the perfect cover to eavesdrop on the conversation. Mon shook her head, hiding the fact that she was impressed with a look of disapproval.

"Not this time."

"I have experience!" Cassian exclaimed in a soft voice as he trailed her back to her office, "I just instructed Leia on this very type of mission. I have connections with certain smugglers—"

"—No—"

"—who could get us to Coruscant safely. And they're still doing inventory downstairs on the new acquisition of arms. So they won't miss a few blasters and such. I could procure them without General Draven knowing."

"Cassian," Mon said in a low voice as a few pilots passed them, "you're a child. And you need whatever is left of your childhood. Please—"

"But then, you should stay too, since you're a mother." He responded immediately. Mon didn't have very much experience with teenage boys, but she figured rebellion was in their hormones.

"At least that's what General Draven thinks."

He knew his words had the effect he intended, but she didn't show it.

"You're staying put." Mon told him with what she thought was a firm tone of finality, but he continued to trail behind her as she entered her office. They were now safe from curious ears.

"You _need_ my help." He persisted as she busied herself with a new file of unscrambled Imperial transmissions.

"And why is that?" She asked in a flat, offhanded way as she worked.

"Because I'm your safest bet." His answer was not the one she expected, and it got her attention. "I'm not going to tell anyone."

Mon considered Cassian's words in thoughtful silence. This had been the most he had ever spoken to her in one sitting. His playing with Leia had been a surprise, but the entire conversation had been a shock. Impressive.

"I'll think about it." She said and, with a nod, dismissed him from her presence. And Mon would think about it. She had quickly learned in recent years to consider all options, even the ones that seemed ridiculous.

Thirty minutes later, while breastfeeding Jobin, Mon continued to weigh Cassian's proposal. He _was_ her safest bet. She called Draven in.

"How is Cassian progressing in training?" She inquired.

"Much like his studies, I imagine," Draven responded as he took Jobin and burped him over his shoulder, "He's smart as a whip. Very quiet, very studious. Reserved, even. Wise beyond his fifteen years. The kid has seen a lot."

"Yes. Yes, he has."

"He really helped us get out of that scrape on Sullust." Draven continued, "He really is quite resourceful; it's why I brought him back with me."

She nodded.

"Why do you ask?"

"Curious about your observations," Mon said, "He's very good on my end—just wondering about yours."

"All right then," Draven was satisfied with the answer. "Shall I put Jobin down for his nap now?"

"Indeed." Mon said, "I must pick through these transmissions."

Draven left her, cooing to Jobin the whole way. Mon smiled; he was proving to be a fantastic father and she allowed herself a moment of gratitude for it.

Her eyes started to scan the transmissions on the screen before her, hungrily searching for any clues. She'd trained herself to spot certain key phrases or names so that she could piece together the never ending puzzle that was Project Celestial Power (or whatever they chose to call it these days).

Talk of a huge Imperial Military Ball on Coruscant. That was interesting but not unexpected: the Empire loved all things having to do with war. She had happened upon an invite list. Usually this type of thing would be discarded, but if she _had_ been planning on journeying there, perhaps this would be a good cover. Over seven hundred people were on the guest list and surely more were to attend. She was sure she could throw together a disguise. Navigating the journey would be difficult. And then she thought of Cassian.

She knew she had kept that Imperial uniform for a reason.

* * *

It had been nearly a year since their last meeting and Krennic had still not recovered. He roamed the battle station like a roving specter. It seemed that her unexpected appearances had had a paralyzing effect on him: he now saw her everywhere. His heart would leap against his ribs whenever he imagined her. Krennic was so distracted by the thought of her that he had difficulty getting anything done. Tarkin continued to lay in wait, taking silent but meticulous note of Krennic's behavior during Imperial visits.

But Orson had no way of expelling the pent up energy inside of him on the isolated station. He looked forward to his journey to Coruscant next month for the Military Ball. He was certain he could find some young thing to relieve him.


	22. Chapter 22

A/N: First, I am sorry. This was a longer hiatus than originally planned. To say it was a writer's block is a little inaccurate; thinking how this story would go was harder than normal for me. It wasn't so much of a question of "what," as it was "how" to do it. I won't go into details because my rationale is a little spoiler-y and I'll leave a longer A/N for the finale.

Also, I may revise this chapter again, but only for "flow" reasons.

Lastly, I wanted to take the time to say thank you to my readers. I love the feedback and the loyalty, however fickle my update schedule can be. Believe me, I've thought of you often as I decided over the past year how exactly to finish off this story. So, as we get to the final chapters, I thank you for reading. I hope you enjoy!

* * *

Cassian could not believe his eyes. He stared at the neatly folded Commander's uniform that Mon had just placed in his hands with a certain level of shock.

"Is… this what I think it is?"

"Yes."

"And?"

"It's yours to wear for the mission."

"Really?" For a moment, Cassian displayed the genuine enthusiasm only an eager teenager could muster. Then he grew serious. "Thank you. You can count on me."

"I expect to." Mon said simply.

"So, if I wear this," he said, "what will you be wearing?"

* * *

Krennic arrived on Coruscant only with time to make a quick trip to the tailor. He had a new uniform made especially for the ball. It was the same design, of course, but the white was brighter and the black was darker. New uniforms, he believed, conveyed a sense of superiority. Perhaps he could convey his false surety in a sartorial sense.

He strode into the ball after his name was announced with an air of artificial confidence. Tarkin, ever the one to smell blood, noticed Krennic's stiff posture from afar. Orson could feel eyes on him and found Tarkin's gaze, nodding curtly to the Grand Moff. The thin line of his mouth made Tarkin burn with satisfaction; all he needed to do was to count down the days until the Celestial Power project was his. It seemed, with the way the Commander was going, that he would ultimately be his own undoing. Tarkin felt it almost cheap to even go and chat with him—he definitely did not want to be seen with a man at the precipice of a public downfall.

Krennic was thankful for Tarkin's distance. He didn't remember the first or second drink he downed. But he remembered the third.

He'd taken a passing cocktail from one of the many attendants circulating the room with large golden trays. The third drink helped him navigate the pointed inquiries about Celestial Power from the Coruscant military elite. Krennic knew how to prevaricate; it was how he had survived for as long as he did. He purred his responses expertly and created a flawless facade, but his blood simmered beneath his skin's surface. He took another sip and glanced around the room. The throngs of people before him made him dizzy; the construction station he'd spent so much time on was a lonely place. Coruscant was quickly proving to be overwhelming. Suddenly a rush of memories came in a swift assault.

A sea of storm troopers intermingled with Imperial officers. Krennic surveyed the room with a fabricated level of boredom, but appreciated the Empire's dedication to a certain monochromatic aesthetic: black and white, black and white. Everything so seemingly certain. This or that. Black or white. The spectral memories of the last ball he attended assailed his mind's eye, but he shoved them away violently.

He thought that a change of scenery would set his mind at rest but, being on the urban planet, his mind was conversely sent into a frenzy. If her image pushed its way into his mind's eye before, now she was seemingly everywhere. Her brilliant red hair. Her flashing green eyes. Always there, always interfering. As he effortlessly pretended to listen to a Mid-Rim delegate about possible moisture farm prospects, he was struck by an image across the room. He blinked once to void it from his mind, but when his eyes refocused, it was still there.

As he fought against the alcohol's scorching effects, his eyes strained to focus on the target: a statuesque figure in a fitted black gown. Her cropped pompadour was combed close to the sides of her head and just grazed the nape of her neck. Her back was to him. She was gazing out the wall of windows that connected to a verandah. From afar, she seemed as good a choice as any. If he closed his eyes later on, he could imagine what he truly wanted, and then he could finally find some relief.

He took another sip. The burn was gone; just a lingering warmth remained. He felt his shoulder muscles loosen for the first time in a few years. Krennic allowed himself a small, crooked half-smile.

After a quick nod to the delegates, Krennic started to edge his way across the large ballroom.

Krennic hadn't very much experience with this sort of thing, not in the last ten years, at least. His carousing schooldays seemed like a lifetime ago. He found that his heart raced as he approached his newest conquest. The liquid courage he grasped in his hand was running low, but there were no passing golden trays in the crowded center of the room. The volume of people stalled his advances, but he continued to stare at her. Her hair was red, and he found himself hoping her eyes were green. Perhaps it would be easier than he thought.

His target seemed to feel his fixed gaze on her. She tilted her head slightly over shoulder, revealing a sloping nose and a heavily lined green eye.

An eye that caught the low light of the ballroom.

Krennic couldn't control the fierce and sudden intake of breath that coursed through his lungs and pressed forward through the crowd, elbowing Imperial officers as he went. She, on the other hand, did not seem startled, and he immediately resented that fact. She smiled at him.

Mon then turned to him, revealing the front of her gown: it wrapped around her curves and rippled gently to the floor. Her creamy skin glowed against its ebon tones. Impossibly gorgeous, as usual. The alcohol did little to quell the anger bubbling inside of him. She started to walk toward him, and he soon found himself free of the crowd.

They stood face to face, taking each other in for a moment. He abruptly grabbed her by the wrist and led her out to the verandah, into the cold night air. He found a shadowed alcove and pulled her in. For good measure, he let her shoulder blades hit the wall as he relinquished her. Krennic exhaled, dizzy again, as he placed his hands against the rock facade on either side of her. He had her penned; a thought of the bounty on her flitted through his mind.

"Are you _mad_?" He spat through gritted teeth. She was taller than he remembered.

She smiled again but said nothing, her eyes resting on the growing strands of silver at his hairline. More salt than pepper it seemed these days. He looked tired.

"Why are you here?" He demanded softly; there was a small group of officers a few yards away from them. One glanced at them fleetingly. Krennic locked eyes with him for a short moment. They seemed to get younger and younger by the day, he observed.

"I—I don't know." She stammered. Her eyes drifted to the officers and then darted back to him. Her eyeliner made her look wild; she was wearing too much, and Krennic felt he should comment on that.

"That black around your eyes—" He began, but she stopped him. Her hand fell to his cheek, and the words froze in his mouth.

Her fingers traced their way across his skin to his lips, and her touch sent a shot of electricity through him. They had gotten so close that their noses grazed. Mon's shoulder blades began to chafe as Krennic held her against the wall. Still, she caressed his face. They stood there, frozen, as they felt the officers leave.

A light breeze wafted through the outdoor plaza, and Mon shivered for a moment but did not take her gaze from Krennic. He took the moment to drink in everything about her, to memorize her face, to restock his mind's eye of every detail of her skin, her eyes, her lips, her hair, and her smell. She furrowed her brow: his breath quickened, he seemed to be distressed by her presence or perhaps surprised. Or overwhelmed. She watched for a moment as he wrestled with himself over what to do next. He blinked as he studied her face frantically, knowing ultimately what he would choose, but hating himself deeply for it. This would be his last chance, and he somehow knew it.

To seal everything in, Krennic plunged his nose into her hollow of her collar bone and trailed it up her neck, finally halting at the curve of her jaw. All was as he had remembered. But this time, it seemed different. There was a desperation in him now as he studied her, and it unsettled him.

They were alone now, on that verandah in the dark, shadowed by a column that kept them hidden from the double glass doors that led back into the ball. The flyers buzzed far beneath them, and the multitude of stars were now above them, the only witnesses to their union. Krennic took half a step closer to her so that his knee slid between her thighs, making the material of her dress stretch under the pressure of his body weight. His lips pressed against her skin, the contact of which elicited a sigh from the deep inside of her. Mon's mind twisted into knots as Krennic's frantic mouth found hers; suddenly it was extremely difficult to recall her objectives. She hoped, through her jumbled mind, that Cassian was still dutifully trailing the group of officers, listening silently to them all the while.

She tried to keep a grasp on her control as he administered each deep kiss to her waiting, parted lips. Mon let him continue for a moment—everything was so fluid and smooth and warm and lovely—then responded with a moan into his mouth. She snaked her fingers up his arms, to his shoulders and into his hair. Mon grabbed at the grey locks with one hand, while the other slid down his chest and lifted his tunic open. Krennic's hands moved from the wall and he took Mon into an embrace so his hands were then on her shoulder blades, his knuckles now taking the brunt of the pressure against the cool, rough rock.

With a smooth flip, Mon undid Krennic's black trousers. He, in kind, began to grab at the folds of her dress in such a way that it exposed her legs. Krennic leaned into her further so that their bodies threatened to meld together. She stifled a cry of surprise as she abruptly felt his blatant, frenetic arousal.

His breathing grew ragged.

They pressed their foreheads to each other and Mon nodded quickly. She nodded even though she knew her time was up. It was already well past the time she'd arranged with Cassian.

"This is madness." Krennic whispered. He hesitated, but only for a moment, as Mon's eyes caught his and she reiterated her wishes.

"Madness." He repeated as she wrapped a long leg around his hips and drew him closer to her. With one swift motion, he thrust himself inside of her once. Her lips were waiting for his and he took them. The shuddering sensation that surged through their bodies upon contact made them pause; Krennic closed his eyes as he pulled out and thrust into her a second time, now with mounting urgency. He accelerated and they fell into a smooth rhythm. Mon threw her arms tightly around his neck, her breath edging against his cheek. She tried to will his eyes open, but they remained shut.

Krennic continued with a long, low sigh; he could only hold on for so long and his control was speedily waning. He quickened his pace and took Mon's other leg around him, taking her into his arms.

"Orson," she purred into his ear, "look at me."

Krennic seemed to wince and, with a stilted groan, steeled himself so he could go on, but ignored her request.

"Orson." Mon was gentle, but firm. She pulled back and took his face into her hands. "Look at me."

Her words caused him to slow his pace and he relented. He saw that her eyes were flashing at him; they were the green eyes that had constantly haunted him for years, so the moment he locked his gaze onto hers, he lost all control. All of the lost time, all of the hopelessness, all of the pain rose up in him, and Krennic came inside of her with a violent burst and an involuntary, deep growl.

She held him close to her and listened to his breathing ease. He clung to her, wishing they could stay as such forever. But soon she pulled herself from him and was tending to the task of fixing her dress.

"I must go." She said in a low, steady voice.

"Why now?" He blurted as he buttoned his trousers. "Just—stay—"

A ruckus broke forth from the ballroom and a squad of stormtroopers burst onto the verandah.

"Check the area!" One cried.

Their footsteps drew nearer and Mon darted behind the pillar, protected by the shadow. She smoothed her hair and hoped her disguise held out a little longer.

Krennic jerked his head to the advancing stormtrooper and back to Mon, whose lined eyes were wide and betraying her cool manner. It would've been so easy, in that moment, to throw her to them, gain respect for doing so, and retire rich on the reward money. He felt his hand grip her arm, and she stiffened. The stormtrooper grew closer, and Mon gave Krennic a piercing look. All he had to do was shove her into the light and utter her name. Her look was swiftly turning into a disbelieving glare.

Krennic stepped in front of the trooper, who had appeared before him.

"What's the trouble, officer?" He asked deftly.

"Sir," the trooper replied with a salute, "there is word that a possible rebel cell has infiltrated the ball, sir."

"I'll keep an eye out then," Krennic commented dryly.

"Yes, sir." The trooper gave another short salute and trotted off without ever gazing into the shadow next to him.

Soon they were alone again.

"Orson—" Mon began, but Krennic stopped her.

"Don't." He hissed.

"I must go." She said quietly.

Her comm device buzzed and Mon glanced at it. She hurried to the railing and peered out into the bustling Coruscant night.

Krennic wanted to plead with her, to clasp her close to his chest, to smother her against him, but he knew it was of no use. They'd been here before, too many times to count now.

She held onto the railing, as if waiting for something. He drew close behind her and buried his nose into her hairline. She squeezed her eyes shut and prayed he wouldn't speak. She couldn't stand to hear his soft baritone in her ear. Not like this. Not now. Her betrayal of him tonight might take him years to uncover, but the burden was already a weight too great to bear.

A flyer buzzed into his view. The pilot couldn't have been more than 15 or 16 years old. Krennic blanched as he realized it was the Imperial officer who caught his eye only a short while before.

Cassian hovered the craft just below the verandah, out of sight of any Imperial eyes. Mon nodded to him curtly and hiked up her dress, ready to make the climb and the subsequent jump.

In spite of the reality that surrounded him, Krennic called her name as she swung her legs over the rail. She held herself in a way as if waiting to take a deep plunge instead of only a small hop.

"Good bye, Orson." She gazed back at him as tears began to trail grey streaks down her cheeks.

He could say nothing. No words would come, but Krennic would never forgive himself if he chose to remain frozen. She leaned forward and, at the last moment, Krennic grabbed her arm. Mon turned back to him to free herself, but was met with his lips on hers. She sank into the kiss, but he pulled away with something resembling a sad smile on his face. Without another word, Mon turned back to meet Cassian's shocked face and jumped into the flyer.

Cassian immediately threw the vehicle into gear and they sped off.

* * *

Krennic couldn't begin to know how long he stood at that railing. He remembered that lonely night on Pekest. How he'd hoped his breath would fail him. He also remembered the creeping emptiness. But tonight, she wrenched feeling out of him again, even if it had only been for a few moments. And now that she was gone once more, the feeling was gone. She only left her specter, and a lingering musk he was only grateful to inhale.


End file.
